


The Beginning: Death of the Conqueror

by Atiaran



Series: Destiny [10]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Adventure, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-27
Updated: 2006-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiaran/pseuds/Atiaran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the prequel fic to my series of AU Gabrielle and Caesar fics, detailing Gabrielle's capture by Xena, Xena's death, and Gabrielle's and Caesar's escape. AU. Not romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer:** None of the characters, places, etc. in this story are mine, but instead are the property of Universal Studios and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

 **Author's notes:** This is the not-so-long-awaited (and probably completely uncalled-for ) prequel to my series of AU Gabrielle and Caesar fics. In this one, we see the Dark Conqueror in person for the first (and last) time, as well as get a look at some of her primary relationships. I tried to remain more or less faithful to what I had established in the rest of the series, although it was not always easy. Thanks, as always, to Lady Kate who helped beta!

* * *

" _Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,_

 _Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,_

 _Raze out the written troubles of the brain,_

 _And with some sweet oblivious antidote_

 _Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff_

 _That weighs upon the heart?"_

" _Therein the patient_

 _Must minister to himself."_

" _Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it."_

— _Macbeth,_ Act V, scene iii.

" _Well, it breaks my heart_

 _To see you this way_

 _The beauty in life, where's it gone?_

 _And somebody told me_

 _You were doin' okay_

 _Somehow I guess they were wrong…."_

—Flogging Molly, "Whistles the Wind," _Within a Mile of Home_

 __

* * *

They were huddling in the cool, dark cellars of the Athenian Academy when the soldiers smashed the door in.

It had been Xena's army that had ended up taking the town rather than Callisto's—the Dark Conqueror had beaten the Bright Warrior to Athens by a day, perhaps two—but that was only preferable insofar as it was preferable to have one's throat slit rather than to be set on fire. The bardic elder Gastacius had commanded all the students to descend into the basement catacombs, and had Euripides and Homer stack trunks against the door, but that pitiful defense was no barrier to the soldiers of Xena. Pounding shook the timbers of the heavy wooden door, and Gabrielle was frozen with fear. She crouched, shivering, behind an old velvet couch and peeked out at the basement below. She saw the same fear reflected on all the faces of her fellow students and teachers, half-visible in the murky cellar gloom.

The ancient oak door shattered inward and light poured into the basement murk, washing over the bardic students huddled there, along with shouts, screams, the clash of metal on metal, and other battle noises which had come to them only dimly. The scent of smoke and blood flooded into the basement. From her position behind the couch, Gabrielle could only squint at figures silhouetted in the light at the top of the stairs.

" _You there! Out! Come out of there this instant, or we'll kill you all!"_

The soldiers were tossing the trunks off the stairs as they shouted. The wooden caskets shattered on the stone floor, spilling fabrics, instruments, and props everywhere. The heavy tread of boots pounding down the stairs filled Gabrielle's ears. She cowered, looking out from between the low legs of the old prop sofa. She could see them—rough-faced men wearing shining armor, carrying swords so sharp they gleamed. Four or five of them took up positions at the bottom of the stairs, standing watchfully with weapons drawn. Gabrielle knew most of the other bardic trainees had scattered like her, and were hiding in among the labyrinth of boxes, crates and shelves, in the catacombs, but not all of them; as she watched, soldiers came into her field of vision herding a handful of captives, young men and women dressed in bardic blue who looked every bit as scared as she did. She didn't know any of them well, but she had seen them together, had classes with them.

" _Is this all?"_ demanded one soldier. "Where are the rest?" He turned to look at the captives, as if expecting an answer. None was forthcoming. The trainees stared at him, speechless with fear. The officer looked them all over, then grabbed one of them, an overweight, soft-looking boy who had helped Gabrielle occasionally with her lute lessons. He had tears in his eyes. The lead soldier drew back and struck him brutally across the face. The boy's cry sent shivers down Gabrielle's spine. There was no anger in the blow, and somehow that scared Gabrielle more than if the soldier had raged.

" _Where are the rest?"_ the soldier demanded again.

"They…they fled," whimpered the boy. "Split up and…hid in the catacombs."

The soldier turned away. "You heard the prisoner. Split up and find them."

The rest of the group split up and disappeared into the dim, dusty piles of old furniture, bookshelves, and props no longer in use. The men at the bottom of the stairs did not leave their post, but remained watchful, swords drawn, scanning the area methodically. The high weeping of the boy the soldier had struck went on and on—when another of the captives, a woman who had been Gabrielle's occasional partner in dance lessons, tried to comfort him, one of the men gripped her by the arm and shoved her back.

"Stay where you are," he said curtly. "No talking." The woman stepped back, looking frightened. Gabrielle could do nothing but cower behind the couch, hoping they didn't see her in the shadows. She could hear the heavy steps of the soldiers ringing on the stone floors, and then all of a sudden there was a hoarse yell.

" _Homer, no!"_ another voice shouted.

" _You filthy little bastards!"_ A sharp thudding, and then a cry of pain. Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut, clasping her hands over her ears, caught between her need to know what happened and not wanting to hear whatever happened next. Finally she couldn't stand it any longer—she _had_ to look.

She opened her eyes again to see two forms falling into her field of vision and striking the stone floor. One was Gastacius, and Gabrielle stared in horror at his glazed and sightless eyes. The wise bard who had been the head of the academy, to whom all students could go with their troubles, was no longer. _Gastacius..._ And yet it was the sight of the other that froze her blood. It was Homer.

He was still alive. Blood stained his bright blond curls and the side of his face, and his shoulders were heaving as he struggled to get his breath back, but he was still alive. He turned his head to the side, and stared straight into Gabrielle's face from a distance of less than two yards.

A sandaled foot landed on his back, pressing him to the ground. "This little bastard _bit_ me!" There was the scrape of metal on metal. "You're gonna lose your head for that, you Athenian maggot," the soldier snarled, his voice rough with rage.

Homer's eyes were locked with hers; she could see his fear. Later, Gabrielle would not remember any conscious decision; she was on her feet almost before she thought, the fire of panic racing through her veins. She shot up from behind the sofa, so fast she almost banged her head on an overhanging shelf.

" _You leave him alone!"_

"Gabrielle!" she heard Homer cry, but it was distant. She scrambled over the back of the sofa to fling herself between the soldier and her fallen friend. The next instant she was grabbed by the hair and spun around to stare into the misshapen face of the head soldier.

"Well, look what we've got here," the man said roughly. He grinned. "Take a look, men—a sweet thing for our queen! Our lady will reward us well for bringing her _this_ one!"

 _This one? Bringing her? What do they mean?_ Gabrielle lunged, trying to free herself, but was yanked back easily.

"Don't hurt her!" Homer was shouting helplessly. "Don't—Leave her alone!" The men paid him no more heed than if he were a statue. Two men gripped her, one holding each arm, and started dragging her toward the stairway.

"Anybody else we should bring?" the officer was asking his men. He motioned toward Homer again, and Gabrielle saw that the Academy healer, a tall, black-haired woman named Pallonia, had hurried to his side; she was dabbing at his wound with a folded square of cloth.

Pallonia faced the man defiantly. "I'm a healer. This man is injured. He needs my help."

"Healer, eh?" The officer raised an eyebrow. "Bring her too, men—we've got plenty of wounded, and our own healers've got more'n enough to do. More, when Callisto gets here."

"No, wait!" Pallonia cried as the soldiers moved forward to seize her. "He needs my help—"

"Not for long, he doesn't, lady," the officer replied roughly. The hands on her arms cut roughly into Gabrielle's flesh. Pallonia looked appalled. "Take 'em to our queen," the officer ordered the men curtly, and she felt herself being propelled up the stairs toward the street outside. Just as she was shoved out into the street, she heard the rasp of metal as the officer in the cellar drew his sword from its sheath.

* * *

The soldiers herded Gabrielle through the burning streets of Athens, stopping to add several other girls along the way. The girls were all blondes and of Gabrielle's age or thereabouts; Gabrielle guessed they also were being taken to see Xena. _What does the Dark Conqueror want with us?_ That was a thought that she tried to squelch.

She tried not to look too closely at the images of the carnage around her. In the Academy, she and her cohort had always talked among themselves about what it would be like to be up close in a _real_ battle, between the armies of Xena and Callisto and Najara. At least—some of them did. Those who had come from war-torn regions remained significantly silent. Gabrielle had never understood why until now.

She tried to avert her gaze, but it wasn't enough to shut out all the devastation around her.

Houses on all sides were burning, sending thick plumes of smoke into the air; the acrid smoke stung Gabrielle's eyes and chewed at the back of her throat, making her cough. Fresh bodies filled the streets, both of the dead, and of those who soon would be dead. She watched as Xena's men smashed in the door of one as yet unburned house; there was a short, sharp scream from inside, cut off immediately, and the high, wailing cry of an infant that likewise suddenly ceased. Occasionally in the streets as they passed, Gabrielle saw healers attempting to minister to the wounded and dying; whenever their caravan came upon one of the healers, the soldiers would forcibly pull them away from their patient. "Our lady's troops need you far more," said the man in charge of the group, with a rough laugh, as an elderly, white-bearded man protested; his protests did neither him nor his patient any good, however, as he was dragged along with the rest of the group. The killing was still going on. Even as Gabrielle watched, she saw men in armor and with swords dragging men, women and children out of houses and cutting them down. She shivered, trying to avert her eyes, knowing there was nothing she could do to help them.

Xena had set up her camp right outside what was left of the walls of the city; the once-strong walls lay in ruins, Gabrielle saw, smashed to piles of rubble by Xena's artillery. At the entrance to the camp, the soldiers separated out the healers from the rest of the prisoners and led them off somewhere, presumably to tend to Xena's wounded. Gabrielle watched Pallonia go desperately; she felt she was losing her only friend. The prisoners that were left—young blonde girls like herself—looked at each other with frightened eyes; none of them knew what fate awaited them.

Gabrielle had never been inside a military camp before, and under ordinary circumstances would have taken care to notice every little detail, so that she could remember it for her songs and stories. She was too afraid of what awaited her now to pay such close attention; as she was herded through the lanes of the encampment, she received a confused impression of tents set up in neat, orderly blocks, of men in shining armor marching in disciplined rows, of wide, clean lanes and alleyways, but she didn't have time to take it all in. The soldiers marched them efficiently through the streets, keeping them moving along toward an awning that loomed in the middle of the encampment. The sight of that awning, above the tops of the tents around it, filled Gabrielle with dread. She knew without asking: That was where Xena waited.

* * *

The awning was set up at one end of an open space in the middle of the encampment; Gabrielle guessed it was an assembly space for the troops. The guards shoved the girls into a rough approximation of rows in the open space. Gabrielle reeled at the rough treatment, blinking and trying to focus; she could not catch her balance for a moment and fell against one of the other girls. But as she straightened, even before her vision cleared, she sensed _her_.

Underneath the awning at the near end of the assembly space, there sat a massive chair—a throne, ornately carved and raised by several high, steep steps off the ground. Even through her fear, Gabrielle recognized that hideous throne from the tales—it was Xena's Dragon Throne, brought back with her from Ch'in. Sinuous dragons, in red and green and gold and black, writhed along its back and arms; more dragons were inlaid in jade and emerald and lapis lazuli along its steps. The throne was a monstrosity, and at any other time, Gabrielle would have stared at it in appalled fascination. Yet now her entire attention was taken up by the presence atop the throne—a presence as brooding and ominous as thunderheads gathered around a mountaintop. The Dark Conqueror.

 _She._ Gabrielle was a bard and words were her tools, yet at that moment, all words fled her. The Dark Conqueror, the Warrior Princess, the Daughter of War, Destroyer of Nations—what had any of these words to do her, or she with them? _She._ There was no other word that could capture the elemental essence of what _she_ was—indeed, she _simply_ was, like the night sky, or the darkness of the blackest shadows. It seemed, in that first moment, as if the darkness under that canvas roof was something that was peculiar to her alone, that she carried within her and shed to all her surroundings; and at the heart of that darkness, she shone, standing out with the clarity of a star or a brilliant jewel.

She was not dressed like a powerful warlord, in a land where powerful warlords were known for corruption and decadence—at least, had been known, before she and her rivals, the Bright Warrior and She of the _Djinn_ , had grown so large in stature that no other could match them. Neither she nor her enemies had ever been known for brilliant displays. She wore a long fur robe that obscured her from the neck down, though she was rumored to have a body that many women would sell their souls for. Her flowing black hair was covered by a bright gold helmet; her eyes were ice-blue, colder than the snows of the north, and half-lidded. She was said to be more beautiful than Helen of Troy; yet it was a chill, marble perfection. Gabrielle had heard it said that her expression never changed, that never did she reveal to anyone what might be in her heart—save in one circumstance only: in the heat of battle. Kings had groveled at her feet after a mere glance from those frighteningly pale eyes; even the bravest of men and women, brought into her presence, found themselves stammering and gulping out protestations of eternal loyalty, unable to maintain their resolve in the face of her irresistible force of will. She was many times more than the match of any mortal man who had ever lived, and of all mortal women save two: the Bright Warrior and She of the _Djinn_.

Xena's presence was _so_ strong that even at that distance, Gabrielle was frozen with fear. Nor was she the only one. She could hear the terrified whimpers of the girls on either side of her, hear the high, miserable weeping from one who had given into her fear. Gabrielle's knees threatened to fold underneath her, from awe as much as from terror; she was trembling, and it took all her strength to lock her legs and hold herself upright. The Dark Conqueror did not seem to notice. _Gods, she's beautiful. She's so beautiful…._ That wasn't the right word; Gabrielle the bard was at a loss for words.

The Destroyer of Nations was sprawled at the top of the Dragon Throne, her eyes half-lidded, her face expressionless as she regarded the girls herded before her. Her presence was so overwhelming that it was a moment before Gabrielle realized that she was not alone. Kneeling sullenly by the side of the throne, almost lost in Xena's shadow, was a man with dark eyes and hair as black as Xena's—a _captive_ , Gabrielle realized suddenly; she could see the gleam of manacles on his wrists, and a chain led from a heavy iron collar on his neck to a ring set into the steps of the throne. His lower legs, she saw, were twisted and mangled, as if they had been broken and never reset. Xena's hand hung over the side of the throne, idly stroking his head.

"Is this all of them?"

At the sound of the Dark Conqueror's voice, Gabrielle's heart rose into her throat. Xena had spoken not to her, but to the guards who had escorted the girls to the center of the parade ground.

"All we could find, my lady," the guard to the left of her replied. "We scoured the city for you, my queen."

"All right." Xena gestured lazily. "You've certainly earned a good reward for this effort. After we're done here, go see Dagnon for a material token of my appreciation."

"Thank you, my queen," the head guard replied. As the captain bowed, Xena let her hand fall back to the head of her captive. He glanced up at her. His mouth tightened, and he pushed her away with his chained hands and shifted so that he was out of reach. Xena looked down at him with no expression for a moment, then gripped the back of his iron collar and yanked him back, hard. Her hand returned to its stroking.

"Do you know why you're here?" The Daughter of War turned her attention to the girls, fixing them with those frighteningly pale eyes. No one answered. The girl who had been weeping earlier continued to weep.

Xena continued, as if she had been answered. "You're here," the Dark Conqueror told them, "because I need a new servant. Someone to wait at table for me, clean my tent, lay out my clothes and look after my belongings on the march. It's good work; bread and board, and coin for your troubles. I'm not cruel, when not given cause to be—" the slave by the side of her throne shot her a clearly dubious glance at that "—and I'll treat you well. Which among you will volunteer?"

Still no answer. Gabrielle's knees were almost knocking together. Xena's icy face never changed.

"I'll ask again," Xena said after a pause. "Which of you will volunteer to serve me?"

No answer. Gabrielle's heart was in her throat; she could not speak. The slave by the side of Xena's throne lifted his head and glanced at the line of girls before him with an air of contempt that seemed oddly out of place for one bound as he was; he shook his head and looked away as if they weren't worth any more of his time.

"No takers?" Xena asked after a pause. No one in the group herded before her answered. Xena looked at them all for a moment longer, her face utterly expressionless, but her jaw seemed to tighten. "Fine. Guards!" she commanded.

The guards gripped one of the girls and dragged her forward. The one they selected was shorter than Gabrielle and very, very young-looking; she seemed almost too frightened to protest as they hauled her right before Xena's throne. The Dark Conqueror looked down at her. "Will you serve me?"

The child only stared at her. She was trembling. Xena regarded her with those ice-blue eyes, waiting for an answer. When none was forthcoming, she looked at the guards on either side of the girl. "Kill her."

The girl's scream as the soldiers ran her through was echoed by the screams of the other girls in the tent. Gabrielle was too shocked to make a sound; she could only stare in horror as the almost-child dropped, lifeless, to the ground. Her breath came fast as the guards returned to the huddled mass of women; two of them grabbed the girl who had been crying and started to drag her forward next. When they released her in front of the Destroyer of Nations's throne, her legs buckled under her and she collapsed to the earth, sobbing too hard to speak. Xena's face did not change as she looked down at her next victim.

"I ask you—Will you serve me?"

The crying girl was sobbing so hard she couldn't form the words. Xena waited a moment, then nodded. As the guard raised his sword, Gabrielle's heart leapt into her throat.

" _Stop_!"

The guard froze with his sword upraised, glinting in the dull light from the overcast sky; the sun was on the edge of its horizon. The crying girl broke off, and even the dark-haired slave by Xena's throne looked up in surprise. But Gabrielle saw none of them, as the Dark Conqueror's gaze fell on her.

" _You're_ ordering _me?_ " the Daughter of War asked in a quiet, deadly voice.

Gabrielle met Xena's eyes, and was nearly struck to the ground by the full weight of the Dark Conqueror's charisma. Those pale eyes focused on her with incredible intensity. Nothing, in that moment, seemed to exist beyond the Destroyer of Nations; the tent, the slave, the girls, the guards, everything else seemed to have dropped away. Through numb lips, Gabrielle heard herself say, "I do."

"You dare?"

The words were almost a whisper. _Her eyes. Oh gods, her eyes…._ Gabrielle's knees were trembling in awe and terror. "I'll do it. I volunteer." Had she actually said those words? "I'll be your servant. Just—just don't kill anyone else."

She had taken her life in her hands. Gabrielle knew it; it was almost as if she could sense Xena's mind teetering on the edge of a knife blade. Each breath seemed to last forever.

"All right. I accept."

It took Gabrielle a moment to understand the words; then she sagged with relief. The Daughter of War's pale eyes seemed to fix on her alone, even as she spoke her next words to the guards. It was as if she were seeing in that moment into Xena's soul.

"Guards. Dispose of the rest of the girls, and show my new servant to her quarters. You'll start your duties tomorrow."

As they led her off, she found herself glancing over her shoulder—not at the Dark Conqueror, but at her slave. The captive met her eyes and smiled slightly—an edged smile sharp enough to cut. Gabrielle wasn't sure what she had gotten into, but she knew it was too late.

* * *

The Dark Conqueror watched as the guards cleared the assembly grounds of the women, one hand idly stroking the head of her slave, who bore her treatment sullenly. An observer would have seen her face a perfect mask, with no hint of emotion on those icy features. Presently, she turned to the prisoner by the side of her throne.

"What did you think, slave?"

He glanced up at her, then looked away, his jaw set. Xena looked down at him again, and something flickered on those snowy features. Her hand tightened, digging her nails into his flesh.

"I asked you a question, _slave_. I want an answer."

He jerked away from her in irritation, and gave a noncommittal grunt in response. Xena's ruby lips curled briefly in a teasing smile.

"Jealous, slave?" she jeered.

"About _what?_ She's no different from all your other girls. She'll be gone within a month. _I'm_ the one you can't live without." There was a peculiar, bitter satisfaction in his voice.

"Well, _I_ liked her." Xena patted his head. "Good boy," she said briskly, then rose to her feet and descended the steps of her throne. The slave watched her go, his dark eyes burning.


	2. Chapter 2

After Xena had chosen her, Gabrielle spent the remains of that day with Xena’s quartermaster, being measured and outfitted for her new position.  “Good luck,” the quartermaster had told her, not without sympathy.  “I hope you last longer than the previous one.”

 

“What happened to the previous one?” Gabrielle asked, swallowing nervously, but the man simply shook his head and refused to say.

 

She spent the night in the tiny tent they had given her, tossing and turning, too apprehensive to sleep; when she woke the next morning, she saw that her clothes had already been laid out—a simple white gown, banded in blue around the neck, wrists, and hem, with golden sandals and heavy golden bracelets, necklace and belt. 

Some food had been placed out for her as well—a tray with bread, fruit and cheese—but Gabrielle’s stomach was too queasy to eat; she dressed herself and waited, chewing her lip, until there was a scratch at her tent flap.  “The Dark Conqueror has sent for you,” the guard said, when Gabrielle saw him.  “Come at once.”  Gabrielle, who had no idea what she might have been summoned for, could only respond.

 

 _At least no one else had to die,_ she told herself as she followed the guard the short distance to the Daughter of War’s command tent; the memory of her companions the night before was fresh in her mind.  _At least I saved them._  

 

Xena was taking breakfast when Gabrielle came to her; the Dark Conqueror was seated at her command table, dining on fruit and eggs and honeyed cakes.  The fine silver dishes looked out of place against the rough and splintered wood of the table; Gabrielle recognized some of them as Academy silver, and guessed that even the ones she did not recognize had been looted.  The Destroyer of Nations looked up as Gabrielle came in.

 

“There you are.  Come closer, you don’t have to be afraid.”

 

 _Easy for you to say,_ Gabrielle thought, moving to stand where Xena indicated, at her side.  Simply the presence of the Destroyer of Nations enthralled her.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Gabrielle of Potedaia.  My lady,” she added.  Xena smiled.  Her smile was dazzling, Gabrielle realized, so bright she almost forgot to fear.

 

“What did you do before my men found you?”

 

“I was a novice at the Athenian Academy of Performing Bards,” Gabrielle answered, proud that she kept her voice from shaking.

 

The Dark Conqueror raised one brow.  “A bard, is that right?  At least you should know some entertaining stories.”

 

“M-maybe so, my lady.”

 

“Maybe later, you can entertain me.  For now, stand beside me and serve,” she commanded Gabrielle, indicating the table.

 

Gabrielle took up her place at Xena’s right hand.  At this distance, the charisma of the Destroyer of Nations was almost overwhelming; Gabrielle couldn’t take her eyes off her.  She barely noticed the stream of generals and messengers that came to speak to the Daughter of War, issuing her troop reports and movement reports, or conveying offerings from local leaders desperate to buy her goodwill.  From time to time, Xena would turn to her and command her, “Refill my wine cup,” or “Fetch me some of those honey cakes.”  Once or twice she would offer Gabrielle to try a morsel that she thought was particularly delectable; Gabrielle didn’t dare refuse.  She found herself thinking, _If this is what serving the Dark Conqueror is like, then it shouldn’t be too difficult._

 

At last, Xena rose from the table.  “I’ll be gone for most of the day, Gabrielle—I’m taking a detachment of men to the east.  Have my horse readied.  She’s a palomino mare, named Argo.”  She smiled that small smile, though it never touched her eyes.  “Tell her I sent you,” she added.

 

“Yes, my queen,” Gabrielle replied, eyes downcast.

 

“You can go wherever you want in the camp until I return—my troops won’t harm you; they’ll know that my favor protects you.  Just make sure my tent is cleaned and straightened by the time I return, and I may want you to serve at my table for dinner, depending on how late I get back.”

 

“Yes, my queen.”  It seemed the safest thing to say.

 

“Any questions before I go to collect my men?”

 

“One.”  Gabrielle’s heart was in her throat; she hadn’t intended to speak.  “The quartermaster mentioned….he wished me luck and said he hoped I lasted longer than ‘the previous one.’”  She swallowed.  “What—if I may, what—“

 

Her voice died as the Daughter of War turned an icy glare on her.  “I’m sorry,” Gabrielle hastened to say in a small, meek voice.

 

“Go ready Argo.”  The Dark Conqueror’s words were frighteningly cold.  With that, Xena turned, took up her sword from its place across the top of a trunk, and stalked out of the tent.

 

[*]

 

Xena had promised Gabrielle free run of the encampment, but Gabrielle was nervous; the Dark Conqueror had claimed that her favor would protect Gabrielle, but the young bard didn’t know how true that was.  Nevertheless, eventually she plucked up her courage and dared to leave her tent, to explore the encampment outside. 

 

Gabrielle had never been in a military encampment before; everything she saw was new to her.  Xena had been correct, however; the soldiers Gabrielle passed all stood aside for her, and if some of the looks they gave her were less than respectful, they were only looks.  The Dark Conqueror’s favor was a potent charm protecting her.

 

She didn’t like being outside though.  Soldiers were everywhere, marching in columns, and while Xena’s favor protected her, she found them intimidating to say the least.  Once she turned a corner to see soldiers dicing; one glanced down at the throw revealed under his leather dice cup, cursed, and drew a dagger, lunging at his opponent.  He managed to get a good slash in before an officer stepped in between them; Gabrielle hurriedly backed away as the captain and his men took the knifer into custody.  Columns of captives were being herded through the lanes between the tents, all looking dispirited and miserable, and in the background, Athens was still burning.  Gabrielle tried not to look at the prisoners, lest she see the face of someone she knew; she did once, two of her fellow trainees at the Academy.  Their eyes met hers.  One of them looked shocked and angry to see Gabrielle in her finery; the other one gave her a sympathetic glance, perhaps understanding that Gabrielle had no more control over her fate than they did. 

 

The assembly ground was filled with hurrying people; men and women about their errands, rumbling carts piled high with booty and supplies.  Xena’s throne was where it had been the night before, under its awning, she saw when she passed through the assembly ground; she had overheard that it was so heavy it required a wagon and team of eight horses to drag it from place to place.  The prisoner who had been chained there yesterday was still there, she saw; he was curled up asleep in a pool of sunlight.  She wondered who he was, or had been.

 

On the east side of the camp, away from the city, she saw Xena’s men erecting hundreds of crosses, “for the city leaders,” she overheard.  They stood in black outline against the sky, and guarded in chains around the base were the poor men and women who would go up on them.  They looked lost, bewildered, numb—Gabrielle’s heart felt like it was being torn in two to see them there, and the thought of what would happen to them was unbearable to her.  She knew that there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

 

One of them called out to her, “Young miss, water, _please_!”  Gabrielle started forward, only to be stopped by a young guard with dark curls.

 

“Stay back,” he said, glaring at her.  “Dark Conqueror’s orders.”  His armor and helmet gleamed like new, and his sword looked _very_ sharp; Gabrielle swallowed and tried not to think about it

 

“She said I’m not to be harmed,” Gabrielle tried to argue.

 

The soldier looked her up and down, then raised an eyebrow.  “So _you’re_ her new girl!” he said, seeming coarsely amused; then, “No exceptions.  Best run along, girl—you wouldn’t want to get her mad at you, now would you?”

 

Gabrielle’s heart went cold within her and the strength seemed to go out of her limbs.  She turned away from the chained prisoners, doing her best to ignore their pleading eyes.  Walking away was the hardest thing she had ever done. 

 

 _Maybe I’ll find the healers,_ she thought to herself.  She had already finished the chores Xena had set her.  She had had training in a hospice in Potedaia, had come within a hairsbreadth of apprenticing before she had decided to attend the academy.  If she found the healers, maybe she could help with the wounded.  It would be better than wandering the camp, uselessly, waiting for Xena to come back.  _At least I can do_ something….

 

But when she met with the healers, she encountered the same thing.  They were not at all like the healers she had known around Potedaia; they were rough, coarse men, poorly dressed and scarred in ways that better befitted warriors than those in the healing arts.  She could see some of the Athenian healers among them—the Academy healer, Pallonia, was bent over a fallen soldier; she looked exhausted and bitter, with dark circles under her eyes, and her soothing, reassuring manner was nowhere in evidence as she tended his wounds.  The white-haired man Xena’s men had pulled from the street was there too; his face twitched nervously as he probed the wound of a man twice his size, and at a particularly deep probe, the man roared out in pain and knocked him to the ground.  _“Watch what you’re doing!”_   the soldier snarled.

 

The master healer was a short, bandy-legged man with a barrel chest and a nasty scar down his cheek; he rubbed his bald head while listening to Gabrielle’s plea, and then curtly dismissed it.  “You’re Xena’s girl.  We don’t want none of Xena’s girls with us.  The Dark Conqueror sees you here and don’t like it, could mean our lives.  And yours if you’re not careful.”

 

“I could just tend to the citizens, if you think Xena wouldn’t like me treating her soldiers—“  Gabrielle began.

 

The head healer thought that was the funniest thing he had ever heard; he laughed for what felt like a quarter of an hour straight.  Gabrielle stood there in the dusty tent, wishing miserably she were somewhere else.  “Treat the citizens.  Oh, that’s funny.  You’re a funny one, you are,” he said, grinning.  “You might last a bit longer’n usual.  Look little girl,” he told her, “We don’t treat no citizens here.”

 

“But what about the healers’ oath?” Gabrielle insisted, standing her ground.  “Didn’t….didn’t you swear before the gods that you’ll treat any who comes to you without stint or price—“

 

The man spat roughly between his teeth.  “Gods?  What gods?  Only oath I know is the one I took to the Dark Conqueror,” he said, grinning.  “She’s more’n a match for any god you care to name.  Now run along, little girl, before the Destroyer of Nations catches ya.”

 

Sunk in despondency, she wandered back the way she had come.  _What kind of a place is this?_ she wondered.  _What happens to Xena’s other girls?_ _What did I let myself in for?_   

 

She hadn’t noticed she had come to the open assembly space, nor where she was walking, until her feet tangled in something and she tripped and almost fell.  A startled choke off to her left caught her attention and she turned to see that she was in front of Xena’s Dragon Throne. 

 

What she had tripped over was the chain running from the collar of that prisoner, the one she had noticed before, to the base of the throne; now the man sat up, clutching at the collar with his chained hands and coughing.  She had pulled the collar right against his throat.  “I’m sorry!”  Gabrielle cried.  “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

 

“Are you stupid, or just clumsy?” the prisoner demanded angrily when he could speak again.  “Watch where you’re walking!”

 

“I didn’t—I didn’t see you there,” Gabrielle faltered.  “I didn’t—“

 

“So you’re blind as well as stupid and clumsy.  Well, I can certainly understand what Xena sees in you.” He began pulling in the chain attached to his collar, and Gabrielle almost tripped again as it slithered through the dust and drew in around her ankles. She skipped back just in time.  “Watch yourself,” he told her with that strange edged smile that she had seen the night before.

 

Gabrielle studied him curiously.  Whoever he was, she knew that he must be important to the Daughter of War, or else Xena would not have bothered to keep him like this.  But she could see no clue in his appearance.  His hair and eyes were coal-black, as she had noticed previously, and he was dressed in a filthy, ragged tunic, light-years away from the clean white gown Xena had provided for her.  Now that she saw his legs up close, she could better gauge the damage there; they were so twisted and mangled that they made her sick, a little, to look at them.  The heavy chains he bore on his neck and wrists were the mark of a slave, but there was nothing at all servile in his bearing; as he looked her over, Gabrielle got the distinct impression that she was coming up very, very short in his internal estimation.  After a moment, he folded his arms across his chest as best he could with the manacles.

 

“So _you’re_ her new bit of fluff,” he said at last, with a contemptuous smile. 

 

That air of dismissal stung her; it had been a long and stressful day.  “You know, I didn’t want this!” Gabrielle cried.  “For a slave, you’ve got some attitude.”

 

His dark eyes narrowed dangerously.  “Don’t call me that.”

 

“Why not?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.  “It’s what you are, isn’t it?”

 

“I am not,” he repeated, each word as distinct as if it were carved with chisels, “a slave.”  He held her eyes furiously, and Gabrielle flinched before the anger she saw there.

 

“I’m sorry,” she hastened to apologize, “I didn’t think—“

 

“Then you shouldn’t speak,” he told her curtly.

 

“But—if you’re not a slave—what are you?”

 

He gave a bitter smile.  “If the Dark Conqueror wants you to know, she’ll tell you.”

 

“I—I just was wondering who—“

 

“He’s nobody.  Isn’t that right, slave?”

 

At those words, Gabrielle jumped, and the prisoner flinched.  They turned to see Xena behind them.  She had come up so suddenly that neither of them had noticed; she was seated on the back of her palomino mare— _Argo,_ Gabrielle remembered she had said her name was.  Her armor gleamed in the dull light from the overcast sky, and her face was set in that impenetrable mask.

 

“My—my lady,” Gabrielle stammered.  “I didn’t—I didn’t expect you back so soon—“  Xena flickered her a glance, and something that might have been a smile played around the edges of her lips.

 

She swung down easily from Argo, and advanced on the two of them.  “We ran into a scouting party of the Bright Warrior’s and returned with captives.  Have you been talking to this slave, Gabrielle?”  The prisoner’s jaw twitched at those words, Gabrielle saw; he glared at her furiously, but held his silence.  “He’s really a little creature, once you get to know him; he’ll try his small tricks on anyone he thinks might be stupid enough to fall for him.  I hope you’re not.  But he’s mostly harmless, long as you keep him in his place—chained like a dog at the feet of his masters.”  She turned that cool expression on him.

 

The prisoner’s shoulders tightened; he responded through clenched teeth, “I might say the same about you.”

 

Smiling slightly, Xena drew back and casually kicked him in his shattered lower legs.  The prisoner gave a hoarse cry and collapsed.  Gabrielle involuntarily gasped in horror.  “Please—Xena, don’t—“

 

Xena turned to look at her, and Gabrielle stopped abruptly.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

“My tent better be in order, Gabrielle,” was all she said. 

 

“Yes, my lady,” she whispered.  “It is, my lady.”  She said nothing more.  It seemed safest. 

 

“Very well.”  As the Dark Conqueror turned, Gabrielle took her life in her hands.  Not knowing when she might get another opportunity, she spoke up.

 

“I—I have some healing training—“

 

The Dark Conqueror looked back at her.  She didn’t seem angry.

 

“I was—well, I was just wondering….if I could assist your surgeons.  _After_ I’ve done all the chores you set me,” Gabrielle was quick to add.

 

Xena looked at her for a long moment, her eyes veiled; Gabrielle could make out nothing of what might lie behind there.  She waited.  Even standing there in thought, Xena was awe-inspiring. 

 

After a long moment, Xena frowned as if trying to figure something out.  “You want to—work with the healers?  _Why_?  It’s filthy, bloody work, exhausting and not very interesting.  Why would you want to go work with the surgeons?”

 

 Gabrielle bit her lip, wondering what she should say; somehow she found herself telling Xena the simple truth.  “I can’t stand to see people suffering,” she said at last.

 

Xena looked at her for a long time.  Something flickered behind those blue eyes; Gabrielle could not guess what, but felt a strange touch of sympathy for the Dark Conqueror.  “Sure,” she said at last.  “I’ll tell them myself.”  She swung back up onto Argo and touched her heels to her horse’s sides.

 

As she rode off, Gabrielle swung back toward the slave.  He had managed to drag himself over to the bottom step of her throne and was huddled against it, holding his legs and trembling in pain.  She hurried to his side, horrified anew at Xena’s casual brutality toward him.

 

“Are—are you all right?” she faltered, unsure what to do, if anything—she had no equipment with which to help him.

 

“ _Get away from me!_ ” he snarled up at her, his dark eyes furious; Gabrielle flinched back with a start.

 

“I’m sorry, I just—“ she stammered, not knowing what to say.   “I wanted to help, I—“  She stood there helplessly, feeling useless, while the slave fought to control himself. Eventually, his spasms subsided and he looked at her bitterly.




 

“Have you seen enough yet, or are you going to stand there all day with that stupid cow-look on your face?”

 

“I just wanted to help,” she repeated.

 

“You…wanted…to help.”  He made it sound like the stupidest thing he had ever heard.  His dark eyes glinted, and Gabrielle recognized the light in them; it was the look of someone about to ease his own pain by passing his hurt onto others.  After a moment, he pushed himself up on his arms, leaning heavily against the bottom step.

 

“So.  Xena’s new bit of fluff,” he repeated contemptuously, then gave a cold smile.  “I hope your affairs are in order.”

 

“What….what do you mean?” Gabrielle felt herself shiver.  The slave saw her discomfort and that glint in his eyes grew stronger.

 

“Did you think you were the first bit on the side Xena’s had?” he demanded, and gave a short laugh.  “Hardly.  That little scene that you went through yesterday?  She does that in every town she passes through—takes a girl to be her slave.  Always blonde, and usually quite young.  She’s had a hundred girls if she’s had one.  Most of the girls she takes last a week, maybe two if they’re lucky.  Some have made it to three,” he added, “and a very few have lasted an entire month.  They’re the exceptions, though—and nobody’s ever made it longer than that.”  He gave a mirthless, bitter laugh.  “Except for me, of course.  She’s had me five years.  Make no mistake, little girl,” he told her with that thin smile.  “You got her attention with that stunt you pulled, but you won’t keep it for long. She will tire of you eventually, and when she does, she’ll toss you aside like an old rag.”

 

“Toss—toss me aside?”  The slave said nothing, but watched, waiting; she sensed a cold pleasure from him at her obvious fear.  Gabrielle didn’t want to ask—she didn’t want to know—but she _had_ to.  He would tell her, of that she felt sure; he was _waiting_ to tell her.  “What will she do to me?”  The words were a whisper.

 

He arched one dark brow.  “Slit your throat if you’re lucky,” he told her, deliberately callous.  “If not….there are ways to die that make _that_ look like mercy.  Use your imagination.  But then, you’re a _bard,_ aren’t you?  I imagine you’ve heard the stories.”  Gabrielle couldn’t breathe.  Her jaw had dropped in horror.  The slave smiled slightly, evidently satisfied by her reaction. “But who knows?  You might be the one girl out of thousands that she keeps.  Though I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.” 

 

“But—“  Gabrielle faltered.  “But does she—“

 

“I’ve said all I know,” he told her coolly, calmer now.  “Now get out of here, little girl.  You annoy me.” He turned his back on her and dropped down in the dirt, definitively shutting her out.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Caesar had expected Xena to send for him that night. She did most nights, and _always_ after a brush with Callisto's forces, even if she did not meet the Bright Warrior on the field herself. He was not disappointed; she sent for him shortly after sundown, right after her evening meeting with her commanders. She was rough with him when he was brought to her, more so than she had been in a long time; when she hurt him, he shoved her away in protest. As was her custom, Xena responded by striking him hard upside the head; as he struggled to come back to himself, he heard her say coldly, "Don't you _ever_ push me away like that, _slave._ You don't _get_ the right to deny me. Not _you."_

Once the room stopped spinning, he met her gaze just as coldly. "If you're going to strike me, at least have the decency to strike me for something _I've_ done, and not because you're angry at the Bright Warrior."

That had been a guess on his part, based on some information he had overheard Dagnon telling her captain of the guard Darius. Xena was good enough to confirm it by cuffing him again, harder; bright lights burst across his vision. Over the ringing in his ears, he heard Xena say, with real heat in her voice, "You leave Callisto out of this. It doesn't concern _you._ "

"Does," he mumbled thickly. "Does—it _does_ concern me, since I'm the one being struck for it."

He thought she might strike him a third time, but she didn't; instead a draft of cold air swept over him as she tossed back the fur rug. His vision cleared; he lay back among the soft skins, watching her as she crossed the floor of her sleeping chamber, skirting the battered table in the middle of the room, to an overly ornate cabinet standing in the corner, beside the stone block to which the chain of his collar was fastened. The cabinet was lacquered with images of dragons; she had brought it back with her from Ch'in. Even dressed in an old bedrobe, she was utterly captivating, he thought, watching her; he mused that he had never seen a more beautiful woman, not even the Bright Warrior. Now Xena opened the cabinet doors and took out an earthen jar of simple plum wine, captured from a village somewhere; he had always been scornfully amused that a conqueror like her could have such simple tastes. She poured some into a glass for herself, stopped, and then poured out a second. Carrying both glasses and skirting the battered wooden table in the middle, she returned to where he lay.

"Drink it," she ordered, shoving one into his chained hands.

He turned his head aside. "I don't want it," he said coldly.

"I don't care what you want. I want to drink, and I hate drinking alone."

"Why don't you send for your little blonde toy?" he tossed at her resentfully.

"Slave, I'm beginning to think you _are_ jealous after all." She smiled, cruelly pleased.

"How could I be jealous of someone so completely beneath notice?" Which she had been; he had seen nothing to differentiate her from Xena's other hundreds of girls, though admittedly she had showed a bit more spirit than most. He had often wondered disdainfully what a woman like the Dark Conqueror saw in peasant girls like those. It annoyed him, to see her wasting herself on those who were so clearly beneath her. _Can't she see she deserves better?_

"If you want to drink," he continued, "send for her. You're not going to be drinking with me."

The Dark Conqueror's mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "I don't _wanna_ drink with her. You're gonna drink it, slave, or I'm gonna find a more _creative_ use for it."

He stared at her, measuring the depth of her will, then sullenly took a gulp from the glass.

"More," she ordered, her jaw set.

He took another swallow, then a third, careful to limit his intake; when Xena seemed satisfied, he set it down on the floor beside them. Xena settled crosslegged next to him, and took a sip from her own glass, then let it hang from her fingers, staring vacantly off into space; she seemed almost to have forgotten he was there. After a moment, she gave a sigh.

"It'll be a year ago tomorrow," she said after a moment, seeming to speak mostly to herself.

"A year ago?" Caesar realized what the answer must be almost as soon as he asked the question; Xena tossed him a furious glance—whether she was blaming him for reminding her, or whether she was simply angry that he had asked something so obvious, he couldn't tell.

She glared at him, then gestured to his glass. "What's the matter, _slave?_ Don't you appreciate my tastes?"

He swallowed some more to placate her. "Not really. This is vinegar. My slaves had better than this."

"If it's good enough for the Dark Conqueror, it should be good enough for the likes of _you,_ " she sneered.

"Has anyone ever told you how unattractive you are when you drink?"

"Anyone _important_? No." She sneered at him again. "Finish the damn wine, slave. After all, _you've_ got something to _celebrate_ , don't you?"

There was vicious anger in the last words, but he knew her well enough by now to hear the pain underneath. Another sip from the glass helped him conceal his thoughts. He knew exactly what she was talking about, though he had assuredly not been celebrating at the time. It had been a year ago that the news had reached the Dark Conqueror's army of Callisto's destruction of Amphipolis.

Caesar had seen Xena's home village once, when her army had passed back that way; it had surprised him a great deal, and amused him as well, to see that someone as magnificent as the Warrior Princess could have come from such unremarkable origins. He had also met her mother on that occasion— _Cyrene,_ Xena had told him her name was; Cyrene, alone and unarmed, had met Xena at the outskirts of her village with a stinging slap, and told her in no uncertain terms to turn aside. Caesar had waited to see if Xena would order her mother killed for defying her; the Destroyer of Nations had listened, her face as icy and immobile as a glacier…and had backed down. "We go around," she had said curtly, and of course no one else in her army had dared say anything. She had shown nothing overtly, but had seemed depressed and downcast when she had sent for him that night; the sight of the Daughter of War in her gleaming armor giving way before the peasant woman was one that he had never forgotten.

Nor had he forgotten Xena's reaction when the messenger had reached them from Amphipolis, telling them that Callisto had taken the village while Xena was occupied with the Crusader, to the south. The messenger had given reports of what the Bright Warrior had done there, and had finished by telling of the burning alive of Xena's mother, the peasant woman who had dared to strike the Warrior Princess. Caesar had watched Xena's face carefully during the recounting of the tale, looking up at her from where she kept him chained, and had seen not a trace of emotion on those icy features; she had listened, eyes veiled, mouth flat, and even when the messenger had unwrapped the bundle Callisto had forced him to carry back, containing Cyrene's charred bones, Xena had not so much as flickered an eyelash. "Very well," was all she had said. "Dagnon, tell the army we head north in the morning, and see that the messenger is compensated for his pains."

She had carried it off very well, well enough to fool even him; it hadn't been until she summoned him that evening that he had truly seen her. Though not normally one to drink to excess—no more than he had been—she did occasionally indulge; indeed, he had sometimes thought that her bouts of indulgence had been growing in frequency and severity since she had taken him, though it was difficult to tell. Yet that night when he was brought to her, she had been drunker than he had ever seen her before or since. Her immense rage and grief that night had been magnificent. He had watched, half in awe, as the Dark Conqueror had raged and wept, hurled abuse at the heavens and the gods themselves, raved about the futility and worthlessness of her conquests, and finally turned that wrath on him. _They say you can't take it with you,_ she had said, snarling an ugly sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, _but I_ can _take_ you _with_ me. _Can't I…._ slave? And she had drawn her dagger and held it to his throat.

Dissuading her had not been fun. Occasionally he had wondered if that had been what she had been like after he had betrayed her.

Now, remembering, he asked, "The Bright Warrior's going to launch her assault in two or three days, isn't she?"

She turned a suspicious glare on him. "How d' _you_ know something like that, slave?"

"If that imbecile you've made your second in command can't be bothered to keep his mouth shut, don't blame _me._ "

Xena glared at him for a moment longer, as if considering whether to speak to him. At last she gave a long sigh. "Yeah." The hostility seemed to drain out of her, leaving weariness behind. "She is. I thought her forces had been depleted at the Ch'in border in her battle with Lao Ma's army, but….We ran into one of her scouting parties in the east. She's only a few days' ride from here." She looked down at the wine glass she still held as if she weren't sure what to do with it; after a moment, she poured it out into the packed earth of the floor. "I thought I was done with her," she said quietly, looking at the dark stain on the earth where she had poured out her glass. Her face was perfect and unreadable. "At least for a while. But now…."

He watched her carefully. "Callisto the Fiery is hard to finish. How many times have you thought you've finished her before?"

Xena grimaced. "Many. And she always comes back. It's like that song about the cat—d'you ever hear that one, slave?" At his uncomprehending look, she waved a hand at him; then closed her eyes. "Why'd she have to come back _now?_ Why can't she just leave me alone? She…she _got_ what she wanted—isn't it _enough_ already? Why does she have to keep chasing me? I—she and I, together we could have—if she hadn't, we could have—"

Caesar had heard her in this mood many times before, and quickly attempted to divert her, as much for his own sake as for hers; a depressed, self-pitying Xena was hardly a pleasant companion, and could be a dangerous one. "You should be able to defeat her handily. Even if she has managed to rebuild her forces, I doubt she'll have the manpower to match you, and her forces will still be mostly green recruits."

Xena glanced at him out of the corner of her eye; he could see she knew what he was trying to do, but was willing to allow it… _perhaps even grateful for it_. "Maybe," she said after a long pause. "But from what I hear, the Crusader is planning her return from Africa—building up ships, amassing a navy….If she comes back….One at a time I can handle." _Maybe,_ she did not say. Caesar knew her well enough to hear it anyway. "Both at once…." She broke off, rubbing her forehead with one hand.

Caesar frowned in thought, considering. "From a purely practical standpoint, She of the _Djinn_ is the better choice for an alliance. You've had dealings with her in the past."

"Briefly, and it's not a case of 'practical.' The word you're looking for there, slave, is _possible._ " Xena snorted. "Callisto'll do whatever it takes to hurt me no matter what the cost. Remember the last time I sent messengers to her?" Caesar did. Callisto had taken those men, cut them open, and poured hot coals into the wounds while they were still alive. "The Crusader at least has more sense. She'll work with me to stop Callisto; she's done it before. She doesn't hate me, just…." Xena trailed off. She reached out with one hand and he felt her absently stroking his shoulder; he thought again, watching her, that even staring into space, she was the most incredibly beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. _When my destiny comes,_ he mused, _perhaps I'll spare her. If she begs me to. Spare her, and take her as my empress…_ The thought of her in the purple and gold robes of an empress— _his_ empress—with the golden laurel wreath on her head, was breathtaking.

"Just?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. When she spoke, her voice was oddly hesitant. "She told me once…during our negotiations, she was tellin me all this crazy stuff about her Light and her _djinn_ —I think she was trying to get me to follow her—and she comes out and says that she… that she _pities_ me."

She gave him that hesitant, sidelong glance again. Caesar frowned. "She _pities_ you?"

"Yeah. Can you believe that?" Xena gave an attempt at a scornful laugh, but to Caesar's ears it sounded hollow. "Her, pitying _me?_ The Daughter of War. That's a good one, isn't it, slave?"

He was silent, thinking. He had never met Najara up close—Xena had not brought him along on her negotiations—but he had heard a great deal about her, both from Xena herself and from conversations he overheard as he lay chained to the base of Xena's throne. "Maybe she pities you because she knows she'll defeat you."

He had merely been speaking his thoughts, but Xena took it badly; she turned, stung, and struck him with a hot glare. "You'd _like_ that, wouldn't you?" she accused. "Remember what 'll happen to you if she should kill me, _slave?_ "

"It might be worth it to see you die," Caesar replied coldly. He watched her carefully to see if his shot struck home, and it had; he saw hurt in her eyes. He had barely a moment to treasure the satisfaction, before Xena cuffed him again, hard, upside the head. As he struggled to come back to himself, she rose to her feet in a rustle of silks. She crossed the floor to the stone block where his chain was attached, and unlocked it.

"All right, slave, time for you to go back," she said, her blue eyes bright with anger. She yanked hard on the chain, pulling the iron collar tight against his throat and choking him. He raised his bound hands to claw at it, struggling to relieve the pressure. "You're getting cranky, and I don't feel like dealing with it tonight."

As the guards took his chain in their hands and led him away, he glanced back over his shoulder. Xena was standing in the doorway of her tent, head bowed and one hand pressed to her forehead. He could not see her expression—she was in silhouette—but he somehow thought that she was in pain, and wondered if he had hurt her more than she had let on. For a moment, he almost regretted it. _Almost_. Then she lowered the tent flap, and his view of her was cut off.

* * *

The summons came for Gabrielle at the crack of dawn, earlier than the day before. In the small tent the Dark Conqueror had provided for her, she rose and dressed, wondering if Xena wanted her to serve breakfast before she went to the healers as she had been promised. Quickly, she pulled on the clean white gown Xena had given her, sliding the heavy golden jewelry up her arms and into place around her neck.

When she stepped into the dim light of the command tent, she was surprised to see that the plank table at which Xena took her meals was bare, and the Dark Conqueror was nowhere in evidence. She turned to look at the guard who had brought her in surprise. "Go through to the back," the guard told her, unsmiling.

Gabrielle stepped through the partition at the back of the main room into what she realized was the Dark Conqueror's sleeping chamber, furnished with lacquered, gleaming wooden furnishings, thick rugs, luxurious furs and hanging oil lamps—multiple lamps, though at Athens, lamp oil had been rare and expensive. A small table was in the middle of the room, and in one corner stood a strange heavy granite block with a stone ring attached; Gabrielle wondered what it was for briefly, but then dismissed it.

All of this registered in only a few seconds, as Gabrielle's attention immediately went to Xena.

The Dark Conqueror was lying in bed, a heavy frame structure covered with rich furs, propped up on a pillow. Her long, black hair cascaded about her shoulders. Her face was pale, her blue eyes half-lidded and heavily shadowed. She looked…almost ill, Gabrielle realized in surprise. Xena waved a hand at the soldier who had brought Gabrielle in.

"Tell the cook to bring me some breakfast," she ordered him.

"Yes, my Queen," the soldier replied and backed out.

"My…my lady?" Gabrielle faltered, unsure what to think of seeing Xena in this state.

"Gabrielle." Xena turned her eyes toward Gabrielle. "I'm not feeling good today."

"I'm…sorry to hear that, my lady," Gabrielle responded. "Do—do you need a healer, or—"

"Nah." She raised one hand to rub her head. Gabrielle thought peripherally that she looked almost depressed, and was surprised at her own, strong reaction to the idea of this powerful woman in pain. _Xena…._ "I'm not going out this morning. You're gonna stay here and tell me stories, instead."

Gabrielle began carefully, "My lady…yesterday I thought that you had said I could go with the healers—"

"Yeah, and this is a whole new day, and I'm saying something different," Xena said with rising irritation. "You said yesterday that you couldn't stand to see people suffering. Well, I'm suffering now, and you're gonna help me. Or are you telling me no?"

"Of course not, my lady," Gabrielle said quietly. "I would never do that."

"Good." The Daughter of War's mouth had an ugly twist to it. "You're _my_ servant, and if I tell you to stay here and tell me stories, that's what you're gonna do, _understand?_ "

"Yes, my lady." Gabrielle swallowed. "What…what stories would you like to hear? I know the epics of the Trojan War and the founding of Rome, and of Ulysses's journey home; I've memorized tales of the gods and heroes, and I even…" She paused, uncertain whether to mention it. "I've even learned tales of your mighty deeds," she brought out hurriedly, "if you would care to hear them—"

Xena glanced at her. Something that might have been the barest edge of a smile flickered at her face, and was immediately extinguished. "Tales about _me?_ "

Gabrielle nodded, trying to smile. "There are many tales about you, if you would like to hear them."

If anything, the shadow over Xena's face deepened. "Nah." She waved a hand at the bard and turned away.

"Then what….what _would_ you like to hear, if I might ask?"

There was a long pause at that. Gabrielle waited, watching the Daughter of War. Even lying ill in bed, Xena drew the eye. After a moment, she said, "Tell me about your mother."

 _What?_ Gabrielle realized she had said it aloud. "I'm sorry?"

"Your _mother._ Tell me about your _mother,_ " Xena said impatiently. "You must've had one, right? So tell me about her. Come on, let's hear it."

"My….my mother…." Gabrielle swallowed. She was remembering what the slave had said the day before, and was so apprehensive she could barely speak. Yet somehow, the distress in Xena's face touched her—maybe it was that powerful charisma, maybe something else. Somehow, Gabrielle found courage. "She….she's very kind…."

"Yeah?" Xena was watching her closely, with a strangely poignant expression. "She is?"

"She...she is," Gabrielle affirmed, swallowing. "The—the kindest mother in the whole village," she amplified, "or at least _I_ thought so anyway. She would always make my favorite meal whenever I was sad, to cheer me up, and…and she would sew my dolls when they were ripped or torn…."

"Did she…did she cook, or anything? Like, did she make cookies?"

"She sure did." Gabrielle couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of those cookies. "Whenever I got home from the academy—well, I only really got home once since I started going, it was the first month I was there—but she and Dad walked out two miles from my village to meet me on the road. Mom carried a plate of my favorite lemon cookies the entire way, so that I could have them as soon as I got home, because she guessed that I'd missed them."

She paused, remembering. Somehow the thought of her mother's lemon cookies comforted her, diminished the apprehension a little. She went on, losing herself in the reassurance provided by thoughts of home. "My sister and I used to love coming back to the house after playing on cold winter days, because Mom would always have dinner ready and waiting for us—it would smell so good. I liked her lentil stew best—it was so thick you could practically eat it with a fork. Lila—that's my sister—liked Mom's cabbage rolls. They were good too," she said, remembering. "That's the one thing I really missed about the Academy, was Mom's food."

"Huh." Xena's face was shadowed. She looked pensive, downcast. Gabrielle watched her. She was still afraid, but somehow less so than she had been; she didn't know why, but again, it seemed as if she could sense the Dark Conqueror's pain, and it touched her heart. She could not deny that need. After a moment, her heart in her throat, Gabrielle ventured, "If—if you d-don't mind my asking, my lady, is there—is there s-some reason you want to hear, or—?"

"What? Nah, I just—kinda want to hear about it," the Dark Conqueror averred. "My mom cooked too. She was an innkeeper….." She paused. _An innkeeper?_ Gabrielle wondered. "Well, don't stop," she said with some irritation. "Go on, go on, tell me some more. Like—like, what did you do for Solstice? Did you get a Solstice tree, or….?"

"Yes, we did," Gabrielle said, remembering. "We all would go out together and get the straightest Solstice tree in the woods that we could find, and cut it down and bring it back. Mom made some ornaments—she baked them out of dough, and Lilla and I would paint them and hang them on the tree. One of them was Tympani—that's my pony, Tympani, I had when I was little. Tympani's ornament was mine—I would always fight with Lilla over who got to hang that ornament—"

"Yeah?" The Dark Conqueror was listening with that strange, poignant expression. "Did you—did you have the rule that you could open one Solstice gift the night before?"

"Oh, yeah!" Gabrielle said, suddenly reminded. "Mom always said it wasn't fair to us kids to make us wait like that, so she would always pick out one gift apiece for us to open. Mom and Dad would always get into these mock fights about that—Dad's family didn't do it that way, and he would go around scoffing and acting all put out about it, like it was such an outrage, but we could always tell by the twinkle in his eye that he was just kidding. And then we would try and guess what the rest of the gifts we got were by the shapes of the presents under the tree, I remember this one year, I was sure I got a hat…."

"Were your Mom and Dad…." Xena paused, looking almost hesitant. "How do they…..are they….Did they fight a lot, or—Are they happy together?"

"Yeah," Gabrielle said quietly, thinking. "Yeah, they are. They really are. They'll argue sometimes, but in the end they're really devoted to each other. Even in the village, I knew I was lucky, that my parents cared for each other like that. I hoped….I hoped that I would one day have the same kind of marriage, but….." Suddenly she thought of Perdicus, the husband she had had so briefly, and her throat closed up; she felt her eyes stinging.

She was jolted out of her grief by Xena's voice. "Well, go on—tell me more. How—how did your parents meet? Did your mom—"

So Gabrielle went on, losing herself in reminiscences of home. She spoke for what seemed like hours, wandering through her childhood memories of sunny Potedaia, relating tales of scrapes she and Lilla had gotten into, talking about her family's routines and daily life—helping her father plant in the spring, fishing in the brook near the house, making offerings to the temple of Gaia with her family. At first she wondered why the Dark Conqueror would want to hear these tales—Gabrielle worried that she might be boring Xena, but the Destroyer of Nations listened raptly, showing real interest, cueing her with questions when she faltered or felt as if she were running out of things to say. When the servant brought Xena's breakfast in, she waved it aside, picking at it absently as she listened to Gabrielle. As she talked, Gabrielle found her fear slipping away—she welcomed the chance to remember a time when she had been safe and secure, and was eager to lose herself there. Xena seemed no less eager, and as Gabrielle continued to talk, the Dark Conqueror's downcast mood seemed to dissolve; she laughed at the funny parts, expressed outrage over Gabrielle's childhood injustices, crowed with delight over her triumphs, and made sympathetic noises over the bard's tales of youthful defeats. It felt almost as if the two of them were simply talking, like two new friends meeting. _Or old friends,_ Gabrielle mused, wondering. _Old friends meeting again after a long separation…._ It was strange that she could feel so at home with the Dark Conqueror.

"Oh, you should have _seen_ her!" Gabrielle exclaimed, laughing so hard she almost lost her balance. "She was so muddy—of course, I was just as muddy, after she pushed me in like that—"

"Well, whose idea was it even to go down there in the _first_ place?" Xena asked, laughing hard herself.

"Oh, it was mine of course—Lila was a real mama's girl, she probably wouldn't have gotten into half the trouble she did as a child without me. Oh, and get this—" Gabrielle suddenly remembered. "So at just that time, _of course_ Mom comes by, just after Lila has pushed me down in the mud, and sees us there-'What happened here?' So here _I_ am—just had the wind knocked out of me, can't even talk—and what does Lila do?"

"What does she do?" Xena asked, grinning.

"She goes, 'Gabrielle pushed me!' Which was a flat-out _lie_ ," Gabrielle averred, grinning herself. "I did not _push_ her. She fell down on her own—I didn't even think she was going to fall! So guess what Mom does?"

"What?"

"So picture this: There I am, down at the bottom of the hill, gasping for breath, can't even talk, and Lila's standing up at the top, perfectly fine except for being covered with mud, and Mom goes, 'Gabrielle, you're grounded.' _I_ was grounded! When I hadn't even done anything but led Lila out there! Now tell me—wasn't that unfair?"

Xena clicked her tongue and shook her head in disgust. "That _rat_!" she exclaimed. Eyes bright, she asked, "At least tell me you got her back.

"Sure did—I put a frog in her bed that night," Gabrielle said, grinning. "I felt a little bad, but really—she had it coming. And it was fun to hear her freak out too—you know how little sisters are."

"I never had a little sister," Xena said, shaking her head. "I had two brothers."

"Older or younger?"

"Both. I was a middle child." She paused, and a shadow crossed over her face, somehow chilling the atmosphere of the room. Gabrielle fell silent, unsure what to say.

After a moment Xena spoke. "You make me feel so good, Gabrielle," the Dark Conqueror told her quietly. "I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard."

Gabrielle bit her lip. A qualm ran through her; the slave's words, which she had almost succeeded in forgetting, returned to her mind. _Most last a week, maybe two if they're lucky…some exceptional few have made it to three…._ The fear she had managed to banish while lost in her memories suddenly returned; her stomach knotted with unease.

Xena sensed it. "What?" she asked her.

Gabrielle didn't answer. She was afraid to. She sat, mute, as the Destroyer of Nations looked her over carefully. A frown crossed her face.

"You've been talking to my slave, haven't you?" The frown deepened, and so did the chill in the air. "Haven't you, Gabrielle?"

"Y—yes," Gabrielle whispered. There was nothing else to say.

"What'd he tell you?"

"I—"

"Come _on_ , Gabrielle," Xena demanded, her scowl darkening further. "Spit it out. What'd he tell ya?"

"He said….he said…." She stammered, afraid to continue. Xena's blue eyes fixed on hers, piercing, demanding. Gabrielle's mouth was dry as a desert. "He said that….that you did this in every town you pass through. He said that you had taken hundreds of girls to be your slaves and that you'd…."

"That I'd _what?_ " That stare. Harsh, cold, expressionless. Gabrielle could not read the emotions behind that snowy mask.

"He said that you'd k—killed them. Killed them all."

Xena was silent for a long time. Her expression could have meant anything. "They betrayed me."

Gabrielle was silenced by the bleakness of Xena's voice. Her heart was caught in her throat. The anger the Destroyer of Nations had shown earlier was gone. Her pain was naked in her face, and wrenched at Gabrielle's heart. She felt sympathetic tears prickle at the back of her lids. "Xe—Xena," she managed, surprised at the strength of her own emotions. "Xena—"

"They all betrayed me." She closed her eyes, and Gabrielle saw her swallow. "Every one of them. I hoped. I thought—but they all did, one way or another. They all did."

"Oh, Xena," Gabrielle whispered. "I'm sorry." She barely knew what she was saying. She knew she should be afraid—should be reacting in horror to Xena's confession; she knew that it did not bode well for her—but the pain on Xena's face made her own heart ache. She was suddenly struck by a terrible wave of pity for the Warrior Princess, so strong it left her shaken. "I'm so sorry…."

Xena opened her eyes now and looked at Gabrielle. "Don't you betray me. Please, don't ever betray me." Her eyes were too bright.

"I won't." Gabrielle heard herself promise. _This woman is a monster,_ she thought dimly, trying to remind herself; it made no difference. She felt no fear, only that terrible sorrow. The thought was distant, remote. "I promise I won't, Xena."

A smile trembled on the Destroyer of Nations' lips. "You're a good girl, Gabrielle," she said quietly. She stood up then, pushing back the fur over her. "I think I'm going to go out today after all," she said, and smiled at Gabrielle again. "Go have Argo readied for me, would you?"

Touched, Gabrielle went, troubled by the image of Xena's pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Caesar spent the day right where Xena had left him, chained to the base of her Dragon Throne, dozing fitfully while he waited for her to return. Though no one ever spoke to him, he could see quite a lot simply by observing from his vantage point in the middle of the assembly square; he could witness all the traffic along the main arteries of Xena's encampment—supply wagons, patrols, columns and lines of prisoners. He didn't bother to pay attention that closely; he had seen it all many times before, traveling with Xena's army, so he slept. Shortly after midday, after he had heard Xena's departure, he saw that ridiculous blonde girl step hesitantly into the square; she stopped Krannax, Xena's short, scarred master healer, and spoke to him. Caesar was too far away to hear what she said to him, but he could tell Krannax didn't like it; the man shook his head with a scowl and started past her. The girl caught him by the arm and said something to him again; he listened, not looking happy, but at last gave a curt nod and started off, with the blonde girl following at his heels. Caesar wondered without much interest where she was going; he shifted against the bottom step of Xena's throne, feeling the warmth of the sun, and leaned his head on his arms, waiting.

Xena usually returned around mid to late afternoon, but as the sun sank toward evening there was still no sign of her, or the force she had led out. If it had been almost anyone else she had gone to challenge, Caesar would not have been concerned—but he had heard as she rode out that she was going to engage Callisto. As the shadows crept across the ground, he began to keep one ear open for her, not truly worried yet—he was expecting to hear Argo's hoofbeats at any moment, to look up and see Xena cantering up the center lane.

She didn't come. And as the darkness of evening began to settle over the encampment, her men finally started returning, in a trickle—one by one, then by twos and threes, bloodstained and exhausted, injured and covered with dust and defeat.

 _So many missing…._ Caesar raised himself on his arms, peering through the gloom. The chain at his collar clinked, and his legs ached at the change in position, but he ignored it. The slow trickle continued, showing no signs of increasing. _Where are the rest of them?_ he wondered, suddenly feeling cold. _Where—_

It meant nothing, of course, he told himself as a line of riderless horses with blood-stained saddles, some with corpses slung over their backs, was led past his resting place; the man at the head of the line spared him not so much as a glance. It meant nothing. Xena might have _lost,_ certainly—after all, it was the Bright Warrior she had been facing, and it was true that either the Bright Warrior or She of the _Djinn_ was a match for her. But losing a battle to either of them did not necessarily mean catastrophe, and by no means meant that she had been killed. _She can't be dead,_ he thought to himself, scanning the square through the lowering dusk, searching for any sign of her. _She can't be dead. I'd know it if she were. I'd feel it. I know my destiny, and she's a part of it. It is not my fate to die here and now, and neither is it hers._ But the line of defeated men grew longer and longer, and there was still no sign of her.

He had almost come to the conclusion that she had in fact been killed when he heard Argo's hoofbeats. Shortly after that, the golden mare herself came into sight, with Xena on her back, looking exhausted and dirty; she rode slumped over the saddle horn as if she were keeping herself on Argo's back with difficulty. Her eyes flickered in his direction when she rode past. Caesar raised himself on his arms to watch her go, then settled back down, more relieved than he cared to admit, and angry with her as well— _Would it have killed her to send a messenger back to the camp to alert her troops that she'd survived?_

He knew she would summon him that night, and he was not disappointed; indeed, the guards came to unlock his chain within the hour. When he was led in to her, he watched her cautiously, not sure in what sort of mood he would find her; she was often ardent after battle, but not after a loss such as it seemed this one had been.

She said nothing, but simply affixed his chain to the stone block in the corner. Then turned to stare at him, in the oil lamplight. He shifted uneasily, disturbed by her expression. She certainly did not look ardent. She didn't even seem to be seeing him at all, and he guessed her mind was a mile away. She looked tired, and very, very depressed. "What?" Caesar demanded after a moment.

She still said nothing. After a moment, she came and knelt on the floor beside him. Her eyes were shadowed, distant. She drew him into her arms, simply holding him—he might have been a dog, or a pillow, or some other inanimate object. When he tried to push away from her, she hurt him, her hands digging cruelly into his flesh until he stopped resisting. She held him for a long time, rocking them both gently; he felt her fingers brush the back of his neck, just above the iron collar. Her arms were tight around him. Despite that, she did not seem to see him. It was as if he weren't even there, and she was alone in the room. That thought gave him chills, and he wondered what she was thinking of.

"How bad was it?" he asked after a time, more to see if she would answer him than for any other reason.

Xena was silent for a long, long while. He had almost concluded that she _would_ not answer, until she did. "Pretty bad." Her voice was quiet. "For a while I thought….that I wasn't gonna get out of there. Callisto…." She trailed off. Then shifted, pushing him away from her. He saw her wince in the light from the oil lamp.

"You're injured."

"I'll be all right." She sat back and now he could see it—her upper arm was blood-streaked, and had been wrapped in a not-particularly-clean bandage.

"Let me see—" He started to reach for her with his chained hands. Xena scowled and slapped him away.

"I _said,_ I'd be all right. It's just a scratch."

"If it _festers_ and you _die_ —"

"I'm not going to die from a little graze," she said scornfully. "Besides, why do _you_ care if I live or die, _slave?_ " The distance had gone from her blue eyes; as she looked at him they were bright, jeering.

He twitched, stung. "Because _if_ you die," he said in anger, " _I'll_ be thrown on your pyre. _You've_ told me that often enough."

Xena looked at him for a long moment, her face expressionless. "I guess I have." She turned away, settling back on her arms against the fur rug; she said nothing more, but her mouth had a hint of a curl to it, and she did not reach for him again, though he waited for her. Instead she took a bottle of wine from her belt, uncorked it, and swallowed some. He watched her, waiting for whatever she might come up with next.

After a few more gulps, it came; she gripped his chain and pulled him roughly toward her. Her hands were rough and hurting; there was no trace of affection, gentleness, or tenderness in her touch, but only a desire to injure. He managed to break her grip and shoved her away again, hard. _"Stop it,"_ he snarled at her.

This time, she did not strike him. Instead, her face darkened rapidly. Her eyes seemed lightless, as if a veil had come down behind them, cutting them off. Her words were a low rumble. "What did I tell you about denying me?"

"I don't _care."_ He glared at her, defiant.

" _I can **make** you care…."_

The atmosphere in the tent was changing rapidly, darkening, growing colder by the minute. Xena's charisma was overwhelming, the sense of the Dark Conqueror filling the air, pushing at him, drowning him. Nevertheless, he held his ground. He had to. He had learned, both from observation and painful experience, that when Xena was in this mood, backing down from her always ended in disaster. The afterlife was full of others who had not learned this lesson.

" _No. You can't."_

That was a lie. He knew, again from painful experience, that she could make him care, very much indeed. Still he held her gaze squarely. He would not look away, for to do so would only make it worse.

The blows, when they came, were so blindingly fast that he could make no defense against them. They were stunning. It felt as if an explosive charge had been set off in his jaw, and for a brief moment he blanked out as white light burst behind his eyes. Then the ground jarred under him as the Destroyer of Nations threw him backward, and he hit the dirt floor hard enough to rattle his teeth. He saw her move, rising to her full height; she loomed huge and dark in his blurred vision. When he blinked the cloudiness from his eyes, he froze, awed by the almost divine intensity of emotion in the Dark Conqueror's face. It took his breath away.

" _YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"_ she raged at him. Her eyes were utterly lightless, her face twisted in either anger or pain. _"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"_

"Xena, what are you—"

" _YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"_

" _Xena, what do you want me to **do!**_ " he shouted.

She stared at him. Slowly, her anger seemed to drain out of her; the emotion he had seen in her face was gone as she looked at him, and she seemed to return to her earlier state of depression. "Shut up." She sank back down to the floor, pulling at her wine jug; Caesar breathed more easily. The moment of imminent danger had passed, though tension still hung in the air.

"You're useless, slave." Xena said dully, staring at him. She did not seem to be speaking to him, so much as to herself. "Useless." She took another swallow of wine. "Why'd I even bother to take you in the first place?"

"I'm sure I can't imagine," he responded, not troubling to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

"It was that or kill ya. You should be grateful." Xena did not sound like she cared.

"Why _didn't_ you kill me?" he threw at her scornfully.

Her frown deepened. "Shut up," she said again, and pulled at her wine jug, looking morose and irritable. Another swallow. She stared at him dully. "You're no good," she said after a time. "I want—"

Xena broke off there, and closed her eyes. A look of deep pain crossed her face.

"What?"

She was silent for a long time. He saw her throat work as she swallowed. "I want…." She drew a breath. "I want that bard. That Gabrielle. I want her."

Her voice vibrated so keenly that Caesar winced. Xena went on, ignoring him, the words spilling out of her like water. "She told me stories. Just little stories, but….She told me stories about her mother. She had such a great mother, always lookin' after her—She had a father too. She told me about her father, about Potedaia—that's the name of her home village, Potedaia—she told me about her sister, Lila, and the stuff they did when they were kids—"

Caesar looked away. "Xena, stop it."

"Lila. That was the name of her sister. She used to tease her, kinda like me and my brothers. I never had a sister. I wish—" She drew a long, shaky breath. The ache in her voice was almost palpable.

"Xena, please stop. I can't stand to listen to you when you get like this." He paused. "It's _boring,_ for one thing."

"I want that bard, Gabrielle—"

"Then for the gods' sake, _send_ for her, and send me _back!"_ Caesar didn't bother to try to conceal his frustration. "At least if you're boring _her_ , I won't have to listen to you." Quickly he tried to remember if Xena had acted like this with any of the rest of her girls. He couldn't remember another one. Of course, she had come off worst in a confrontation with Callisto on the same day as her mother's death at Callisto's hands.

Xena sat back, looking at him. She did not look happy. "All right. I will."

"Fine." He glared at her, settling back down on the rug beneath him. Xena seemed, if anything, less pleased than before. _Good._

 _  
_

* * *

It took some time for the girl to arrive in response to her summons; Caesar expected Xena to become angry, but she simply dropped into one of the chairs at the table in the middle of the room and continued to drink, brooding morosely. By the time the tent flap was brushed aside and the girl stepped in, Xena had gotten through half the wine bottle and looked definitely the worse for it.

"There y'are, Gabrielle," she greeted her with a look. "Certainly took you long enough. What'd you do, come all the way from Ch'in?"

The girl threw Caesar a glance, looking confused and surprised at once; he met her gaze coldly until she looked away. She swallowed, and looked Xena over, as if sizing her up. "You sent for me?" she asked warily.

"Yeah," the Dark Conqueror slurred. "I'm feeling bad and I want you to make me feel better, understand?" She waved one hand at Caesar unsteadily. " _He's_ not helping at all," she slurred, "so let's see if you can do any better."

"You…want me….to make you feel better?" the girl asked, looking confused.

"Yeah. Didn'tcha _hear_ me?" the Dark Conqueror slurred. "You—You said you were a healer. _Heal,_ " she slurred. "Cant'cha heal….heal minds as well as bodies?"

"Xena—"

"Tell me a story, 'r something. Like the ones you were tellin' me earlier today. Tell me one of those. Or somethin' like that. Or are you tellin' me no?"

The girl looked even more confused. She threw another glance at Caesar, who shook his head once. _What are you looking at me for?_ he wondered. _I can't help you now. Even if I wanted to._

"Come on. Start talkin'. Tell me a story." Xena continued.

"What would you like to hear?" the girl asked.

"What you were tellin' me before. About your mom. Tell me about that."

The Dark Conqueror's voice had gone quiet, plaintive around the edges. It vibrated with that keen ache that Caesar had heard in it before. He looked at the girl, because it was easier than looking at Xena, and stopped there—the girl was watching Xena with a strange expression, one he hadn't seen on any of Xena's other girls. It was a look of— _what is that?_ he wondered. It looked like…. _compassion,_ was the only word he could think of.

"All right," that foolish bard said quietly. "I'll tell you." She glanced at Caesar again, then seemed to put him out of her mind. Caesar, who had no intention of listening to a stupid bard tell boring stories about her peasant family, curled up against the stone block that held his chain and half-drowsed while the girl spoke. From time to time he would rouse himself enough to glance at Xena; while her face was set in that impenetrable mask, he knew her well enough to know that she was listening with rapt attention. Snatches of their conversation came to him as he drowsed…the girl's clear voice; Xena's strong tones, slurred with wine. Once or twice, he thought he heard Xena laugh—he hadn't heard her laugh like that in a long time.

He drifted off eventually, falling into a strange half-dreaming state as he listened to their entwined voices; it wasn't until he heard the footsteps and the jingling armor of a sentry approaching that he roused himself again. A gust of cold air washed over him, and he lifted his head to see one of Xena's personal guard at the doorway of the tent, almost lost in the shadows of the night outside.

"My lady?"

Xena was flushed with wine, he saw, looking at her, obviously the worse for wear, but she held enough of herself to look up and respond to the sentry's question. "Yeah, what is it, Darius?" she slurred. "Can'tcha see yer interruptin me an' my friend Gabrielle here." Caesar's eyes went to that ridiculous blonde girl, sitting at the other end of the table; she had fallen silent but was watching Xena and the sentry carefully, he observed.

"Dagnon sent me to you with a question," the sentry responded. Caesar could not see his expression in the dark, but could hear that Darius was being cautious; though not as bad as Callisto the Fiery, everyone in the army knew that there were times it was best to tread lightly around the Daughter of War. "About the remaining Athenian prisoners. The ones that haven't yet been crucified—the women and children. Dagnon wants to know if you want to reserve them for possible ransom."

 _Interesting._ The Dark Conqueror had only given the order to crucify the leaders of Athens, Caesar remembered; she had not given word on what to do with the rest of them. Caesar had wondered if she had planned to sell them into slavery—she had dealt with Salmoneus the Slaver Lord more than once in the past. Of course, he mused, looking at Xena's half-lidded eyes, whatever her plans for them had been, he doubted she would remember them at present….

"Oh. Those prisoners?" She paused, blinking, seeming to search her thoughts. "Oh. Yeah. Kill 'em all," she slurred with a wave of her hand. "I got no use for 'em, an' Athens did defy me after all….Kill 'em all."

"How, my lady?"

"Eh. Yer choice. Beheading, crucifyin' 'em, burnin' 'em to death—" She paused. "Not burning," she amended after a moment. "But any way else. Whatever ya want." She waved her hand.

"As you wish, my queen. I will relay the order."

The tent flap closed in another breath of cold air, as the guard was gone into the night. Xena had turned back to her winecup, starting to drink again, but stopped. Her bleary eyes went to the bard, where she sat against the wall. Caesar stopped and looked in that direction too. The bard was staring at the Destroyer of Nations, and the look on her face was something close to shock. He didn't have to see Xena's expression to know this was not good. _Foolish girl._

"Yer judgin me."

Now, Caesar lifted his head, hearing the rattle of the chain attached to his iron collar, and looked over at Xena; the Dark Conqueror sat, slouched and deadly, at the table in the center of the tent. Her expression was blurred with drink, and her eyes half-lidded, but the slow aura of menace that hung around her reached all the way over where he lay curled in the corner, against the heavy stone block to which his chain was attached. He drew back into the shadows, and hoped the girl would have the sense to avoid angering her further. After the stress of the day waiting for her to come in, and the confrontation earlier, he didn't know if he could take any more. _Not tonight,_ he thought sourly. _Just, not tonight._

The girl, he observed however, didn't seem to have the sense the gods gave a goat; she actually spoke up for herself. "Judging you? Xena, what do you—"

"You heard me. Yer _judgin_ me," the Dark Conqueror slurred menacingly, turning her icy stare on the young blonde. "Cause of what I said for them to do with those prisoners. Sure you are. I c'n feel it from here." An air of deadliness was beginning to manifest around her, an almost palpable chill. The single candle flame that guttered on the table seemed very thin and weak; the darkness at the edges pressing closely around the two. The white raiment that Xena had provided that blonde girl stood out so brightly it seemed almost to shine against the gloom. Caesar saw that Xena's perfect face had contorted into a cold sneer, and drew back further.

"Xena, I don't understand what you—" the girl began. Somehow it gave him chills to hear that girl call the Daughter of War by her name. That was something that even he was cautious about doing.

"Yer _judgin_ me!" The words were a snarl. "You think yer so high an' mighty, sittin over there. Yeah, I tol' the guards ta kill them prisoners. Sure I did. So what. They've got no value to me alive, an' dead, they go to show the world what happens when ya mess with the Destroyer of Nations. You got no call ta sit over there and look at me like ya think I'm somethin' lower than dirt!"

 _Plead, girl. Plead for mercy,_ Caesar thought. He had seen Xena in this sort of mood before. When it was directed at him, he never escaped without blows, and he counted himself fortunate; when it was directed at others, those others often ended up dead or worse. _Not tonight,_ he thought again. He was simply too tired to deal with it tonight. _Plead. Beg. Grovel. Do whatever it takes, girl, because if Xena…_

And the girl once again proved how intelligent she wasn't by continuing to attempt to contest her position. "Xena, I'm sorry, I don't understand—what do you think I'm doing?"

"What do I—Yer _judgin'_ me! Yer sittin there starin with those eyes like I'm some kinda _monster_ or somethin'!" He saw Xena push her chair back as she got unsteadily to her feet, and winced inwardly, waiting for the screaming to begin. "You think yer so pure an' clean— _Git down offa that high horse!"_ she snarled furiously.

"Xena, I don't understand, I don't even _have_ a horse!"

And now Caesar saw something that surprised him—Xena stopped, swaying a little in the candlelight, facing the blonde girl. The drunken sneer on her face faded, to be replaced by confusion, as in her impaired mental state she tried to work through what the girl had said. Frowning vaguely, she took a step back, then another one, and retreated to her chair, dropping into it as if she couldn't remember why she had risen. As he saw the girl close her eyes with relief, Caesar grudgingly admitted to himself that that had been a neat save on her part. He had rarely seen someone able to manipulate Xena like that. Perhaps that little bard was smarter than he had thought.

 _Then again, perhaps not_. As Xena reached out to the bottle of wine before her, the girl—showing far more courage than sense—came forward and gently laid her hands on Xena's shoulders. Knowing how little the Dark Conqueror liked to be touched, he waited for her to turn and knock the girl through the tent wall, but Xena only poured herself another cup of wine and took a gulp.

"That feels good," she mumbled after a moment, as the blonde girl gently began to rub her shoulders. The girl smiled at her, and Caesar could see—but he doubted, in her present state, that Xena could—the edge of fear in that smile.

"You know, Xena," the girl said softly, persuasively, "it sounds like those prisoners are really bothering you for some reason. Whatever it might be."

Xena turned and scowled up at her with a hint of her previous black mood. "Whaddaya—" The girl pushed Xena's head straight again with hands that trembled slightly and began to work on her neck.

"I wasn't judging you, you know. How could I have been? I hadn't done or said anything. If you wanted them dead," she murmured softly, "well, I'm sure you must have had your reasons. After all, who am I to judge the Warrior Princess?"

"Yer damn straight," Xena mumbled. Her eyes drifted closed under the girl's ministrations.

"But it just sounds to me like those prisoners were bothering you for some reason. So if I could make a suggestion?" She paused politely, clearly waiting for Xena's permission to continue.

"…Go ahead."

"Maybe you could try letting them go, and that would get them off your mind."

"Let them _go?_ " Xena straightened, turning on the girl. Immediately, the blonde backed off, holding up her hands.

"Well, now, hear me out," she pleaded, "just hear me out. If you thought I was judging you when I wasn't—and I wasn't—then maybe there's something about this particular batch of prisoners that bothers you. If you kill them, that's kind of a waste—you said yourself that these prisoners are of no value to you, but they might become valuable later on, who knows? If you let them go, then you don't have to deal with them and— _and_ —" she held up a finger and instantly made the very short list of people Caesar had seen who dared to interrupt the Dark Conqueror—and, even more impressive, lived to tell about it "—you can catch them again whenever you want, if you decide you need them. So how does that sound? Better than simply killing them off, right?"

Xena stared at the girl as if she had suddenly spoken in a foreign language. She blinked, and he could see the labored operation of the wheels in her head as she tried to work through what the blonde had said. "Yeah," she said after a moment, clearly considering. "Yeah. That could work. Yeah. Let 'em go, and catch 'em if I need 'em again. Yeah," she said again, turning the idea over. "Okay. Why not. Yeah, that's what I'll do. You go tell the guard."

"Right away," the blonde said, and was gone to the guard at the tent flap while Caesar was still trying to figure out what had happened himself. _Could this ridiculous girl actually have managed to stop Xena from—_ He couldn't believe it.

"Yer a smart girl, Gabrielle," Xena was mumbling when the blonde returned. "Yer really smart, thinkin' a somethin' like that. Here. Have some wine."

"I don't normally—"

"Aw, c'mon," Xena wheedled, opening her blue eyes. "Jus' this once. C'mon."

"Well, if you insist…." The girl took the cup Xena was holding out to her. _Perhaps she's not as stupid as all that,_ Caesar thought, for the girl only took a small sip and set it back down on the table, clearly wanting to keep a clear head.

"Smart girl," Xena mumbled again. "Such a smart one, you are…. C'mere an' rub my shoulders again, like ya were doing."

"All right." The blonde came forward to do that, gently massaging the Dark Conqueror's broad shoulders. Xena sighed heavily and gulped some more wine.

"That's nice. Keep doin' that."

"If you want me to." For a moment there was silence in the tent, as the blonde girl worked on Xena's shoulders and Xena drank, her blue eyes half-lidded sleepily. Caesar was surprised—it seemed as if this girl had managed to defuse Xena's deadly temper all by herself. He hadn't seen that in a long time, if ever.

"Say, y'ever hear of this priestess Alti?"

"I'm sorry?" the girl murmured, bent over Xena's back.

"This ol' priestess Alti….crazy ol' witch….found 'er up north, up on the steppes. You remember, don'cha, slave?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in his direction. He made no response, watching silently; he did remember Alti, a barbaric shamaness in hides and feathers, who had walked like she owned the encampment and had looked on everyone and everything as if she knew things about them that they themselves did not know. She had seemed particularly amused whenever she saw him, he remembered sullenly. He had never found out the reason for that amusement.

"Yeah," Xena was continuing on with no interruption. "Crazy ol' priestess….she c'd see the future, she claimed she….claimed she….claimed she c'd see everything that had ever happened and that could ever happen….She was with us for—for—how long was it, slave?" she asked him, looking over at him in clouded confusion. Again, he made no reply, simply watching. Xena frowned vaguely. "Musta been—maybe even a whole year. Yeah, a year, at least….finally got tired of listenin' ta her nonsense an' had her crucified, but she tol' me the funniest thing….She said—get this, she said I had a _soulmate._ " She turned and looked over her shoulder at the blonde. "A _soulmate,_ can ya believe that? Ya ever heard anything like that before?"

The girl nodded, and gave an uncertain smile. "The bards say," she said after a moment, "that a long time ago, in ages long past, all the people in the world had four legs and two heads, and were in perfect harmony. But the gods envied our joy and happiness, and threw down thunderbolts from the heavens to split us apart. And ever since then, we go through life in misery and suffering, searching forever for our other half."

"'S a nice story," Xena murmured. "'S a good story you tell, Gabrielle. I thought….thought it was the craziest thing, can ya believe it? That ol' priestess, tellin' me I had a _soulmate…_.that there was someone out there, someone born jus' ta love only me. No matter what, c'n ya imagine that? In spite of everything, think about it— Someone born ta love _me?_ " she slurred, looking up over her shoulder. The girl had stilled and was looking down at Xena, with a strange expression. Xena's eyes were too bright in the dim light from the candle, and Caesar could not name the look on her face. He could not say how, but suddenly there was an odd, pregnant stillness between the two women, a strange, potent force from which he was excluded. The two of them stood out sharply in the candlelight, seeming somehow more real than the table, or the dirt of the floor, or the tent walls.

"I thought it was the funniest thing," Xena continued in that stillness. " _He_ thought it was the funniest thing, didn'tcha, slave?" she slurred with a wave in his direction. "Didn'tcha?" she asked, glancing at him for his response. "Didn'tcha? Ya _tol'_ me ya did—"

"Leave me out of this," he said sullenly.

"Been lookin for her ever since," Xena mumbled, taking another gulp of wine. "Alti said I hadn't met her yet but that I'd know her when I saw her….said she was younger 'n me….said she was a blonde." She looked up at the girl again in that odd still space. "Thought for a while she might be Callisto….ya ever seen the Bright Warrior fight? Oh, she's good. She's _so_ good," Xena said throatily, and finished off her cup. "There's nobody better'n her. Yeah…thought it might be her for a while….but she….she…." Xena trailed off and closed her eyes; Caesar thought he saw her swallow.

"Is she?" the girl asked quietly.

Xena didn't respond. She poured herself some more wine. That strange air of tension, of potentiality around the two women had not faded. The blonde was looking down at Xena as if there were something she was trying to remember, something she had forgotten. Caesar raised his head, watching them closely, wondering.

The pause dragged out. Xena stared into space for a moment, then with a sudden air of decision, drained the cup. She turned, put her hand over the blonde girl's, and looked up at her. "I think I've found her. I think she's you," she said quietly.

The words hung there in that portentous stillness. Caesar's eyes went to the blonde girl's face, and he saw there an expression almost of—it was hard for him to find a name for it, but a look almost of recognition and acceptance. She bit her lip, then swallowed. She drew a breath, and as if she were summoning up her courage, the girl said, "I think you're right." She gripped Xena's hand tightly.

"You—ya do?" Xena asked, with a smile of relief. "You—ya think—" She drew a breath. "You think yer really—" She gave a high, half-startled laugh, the likes of which he had never heard from the Dark Conqueror before. "You think yer really the one…? The one I…?" She grabbed the girl's hand and pressed it to the side of her face, closing her eyes. Caesar, for his part, found himself both stunned and admiring. Stunned that Xena had been nursing this ridiculous delusion that she had a soulmate for so long, and admiring of the girl's brashness in so quickly attempting to exploit the delusion. It would end badly for her, of that he was certain—as soon as Xena had tired of her—but for the moment, her boldness, her _daring_ were almost…. _Brilliant,_ he thought.

"Xena, when I met you I felt something," the girl was saying. "I felt something, I don't know how to describe it, but it was almost as if—as if I'd known you before, somehow, somewhere, I don't know if it makes any sense, but—"

"No, no, it makes _perfect_ sense," Xena was saying, laughing. "It makes _perfect_ sense….Cause that's the same way I felt when I saw you," she said. Her eyes were wet, and she was leaning into the girl's touch. "I found you," she was saying. "I finally found you. After all this time, I finally found you. I found you."

She leaned into the girl's touch for a timeless instant, eyes closed, a look of bliss on her face. Caesar could only watch, utterly amazed to see such an expression on the face of the Daughter of War; _what is in that wine?_ he wondered, unable to come up with any other explanation for it.

Then Xena looked up. "So where were you?"

The girl frowned. She asked, "What?"

"Where were you?" Xena suddenly clamped down on the girl's hand so hard he could see her knuckles show white. Having felt the strength of Xena's grip before, he felt a brief moment of not-quite-sympathy for that stupid girl. "Where were ya? Where have ya _been_ all this time?"

The girl heard the rising hostility in Xena's voice, and tried to back away, but Xena wouldn't let her go. "Xena…" she said, sounding scared. "Xena, I don't—"

"Where have ya _been?_ " Xena demanded, that drunken sneer crawling back over her features. "I been lookin fer ya all this time, so where _were_ ya? Where _were_ ya!" she asked. The words were almost a snarl.

"Xena—Xena, you're scaring me," the girl said. Caesar could hear her voice shake. _Ah, here we go._ Now _the screaming will start,_ he thought sourly.

Xena was rising from her chair. There was not a trace of unsteadiness in her posture now. Her blue eyes were open all the way, horribly bright with wine and something else, and her hand was locked in a vise-like grip around the girl's wrist. She had bared her teeth at the girl like the animal she was. Her words were not a snarl but a cry. " _Where were you?"_ she cried. "Where were you _five_ years ago, _six_ years ago, _ten_ years ago? Where were you when it might have made some kinda _difference?_ Where were you when it _mattered?_ " she cried. _"Where were you when it mattered!"_

She threw the girl from her violently; the blonde went tripping back across the tent floor, and collapsed to the ground, shivering. Xena was advancing on her, that demonic expression still on her face, her eyes burning. The girl held up her hands.

" _Xena, ten years ago I was nine!"_ she cried.

And, again, Caesar was stunned to find that it actually worked. Xena stopped where she stood, swaying, looking at the girl; the sneer faded from her face, to be replaced by a look of— _what_ is _that?_ He had never seen that expression from her before. She stared at the girl for a moment as if trying to figure something out, then blinked. She went to Gabrielle's side and knelt down by her, stroking her clumsily.

"I'm sorry, Gabrielle," she was slurring, and to his disbelief he saw that her cheeks were actually wet with tears. He looked away; he'd seen Xena weep before—he was probably the only person alive who had—but there was something so _wrong_ about the sight of Xena crying over this little blonde bit of fluff that he couldn't stand to look at it. "I'm sorry," she was mumbling drunkenly. "I'm so sorry. Never…never meant to hurtcha, you gotta believe me, I'd never wanna do that, not ever. Ah, Gabrielle, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The girl was clearly as unnerved by Xena's sudden show of remorse as he was; he heard her answer unsteadily, "It's all right, it is, really, I—I'm not hurt. I'm just—just—"

 _Just what?_ he thought sardonically.

"Just, you startled me. That's all. Honestly, Xena. I'm all right."

"Never meant ta hurtcha, Gabrielle," Xena mumbled again. Her eyes were still too bright. "I'd never wanna do that. 'S just…." She made a half-hearted attempt to smile. "'S just….whydja have ta come _now?_ " she asked, rising from the ground. She wove her unsteady way back to the table, and sloppily poured into her cup again. "Whydja have ta come _now,_ ya know? Now, when it's too late. Too late fer….fer everything. If youda come earlier, I coulda….but 's too late, now, dontcha see? Too late ta change. Too late fer me…. "

The girl hesitantly got to her feet. She moved cautiously closer to where Xena sat, compassion evident in her face. Xena paid her no notice, gulping her cup down and pouring more wine again.

"You know," the blonde said in that same quiet voice, "it doesn't _have_ to be too late…." She offered a hesitant smile. "I…I believe that anyone can change. Every minute of every day, each person has the chance to change their life, to remake it into something better than it was before—"

 _Does she really believe that?_ Caesar spared a moment to wonder distantly at the depth of this girl's naivete.

"Anyone can change," the girl said again, smiling. "All you have to do is _want_ to."

Xena didn't answer. She set down her cup, and was staring into the distance, a strange unfocused look in her pale blue eyes. The girl looked at her, then swallowed. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out a hand. Xena seemed to take no notice of her. The girl drew closer, and gently laid her hand on Xena's shoulder. Xena went still for a moment. She closed her eyes as the girl touched her, and drew a deep, shaking breath. _"Anyone can change…"_ he thought he heard her whisper. The moment stretched out….

Then Xena's face twisted into a snarl of rage. With a cry, she surged to her feet and whirled on the girl, striking her across the face with all her strength. The girl was flung violently backwards to sprawl on the ground, her hair falling in her face, her slender shoulders heaving as she drew breath after gasping breath. Xena glowered down at her, her face still twisted into that drunken snarl.

"Get outta my tent."

The words were a low growl. The blonde lifted her head, looking up at Xena, seeing her burning eyes. Her gaze went then to Caesar, where he lay curled in the corner against the stone block. _What are you looking at me for?_ he thought, and shrugged. Slowly, head down, the blonde got to her feet; holding one hand to the side of her head, she made her way to the tent flap. Xena stared after her, long after the blonde had lifted the flap and stepped outside. Her ragged breathing was loud in the air. _That blonde got off lightly. Usually when she's in this kind of mood…._

Xena turned back to the table, where the single candle burned. Her gaze fell upon him, and he cursed inwardly, tensing for whatever might come next. Xena glowered at him for a moment.

"What're _you_ lookin at…. _Slave?_ " The words were a low snarl. The darkness crowded closely around her; her eyes were half-lidded, but he could see a glow deep within them.

Caesar said nothing, watching her warily.

Xena glared at him a while longer. Her mouth had an ugly twist to it. "You think yer so much," she sneered drunkenly. "Shoulda killed ya years ago." He was silent, watching her.

Xena glowered at him. One hand reached out to find the bottle; she knocked it over and caught it by its neck. A clumsy gesture shattered the body of the bottle against the table. Wine as red as blood sluiced out over the dirt floor. Xena raised the jagged stump of the wine bottle to her eye level, squinting at it as if she couldn't quite tell what it was. Her breathing was as heavy as that of a lion's in its den. "Maybe I oughtta cut ya," she slurred menacingly. "Mess up that pretty face of yers….gouge out them big dark eyes…." She gestured vaguely in his direction with the sharp stump of the bottle. "I oughtta. I oughtta do it. Howdja like _that_ …. _Slave?_ "

"Maybe you ought to cut my throat and be done with it," he replied coldly.

She glared at him for a long moment, weaving on her feet. She looked at the fragment of wine bottle, then back at him, then at the wine bottle. Caesar did not move, but remained tense, waiting. He knew that he had no chance of being able to defend himself against her; she'd proven that to him years ago.

She threw the fragment of the bottle at him. He ducked, and managed to deflect it with his chained hands; the wine had ruined her aim a bit. Xena hissed through her teeth. "Ahhhhhh….shut yer mouth and go ta sleep. I'm sick of listenin ta yer yappin."

She turned her back on him and started to climb into her frame bed, piled high with furs, then stopped and pulled one of the furs out of the pile. She tossed this at him absently, then put out the light, plunging the tent in gloom; he heard the rustle of her climbing into her bed. He had to move forward a little to retrieve the fur she had tossed him; his shattered lower legs throbbed in protest, but he paid it no mind. Spending the night in her tent, instead of out in the cold night chained to the base of that hideous dragon throne, would do his legs no end of good. He pulled it over himself, and rested his head on his arms, listening to the soothing sound of Xena's soft breathing. He was asleep within moments.


	5. Chapter 5

After Xena threw her out, Gabrielle returned to her tent. The side of her face ached and was starting to swell. She held her jaw in her hands as she stumbled into the small confines of her own tent, wondering how it was that she could still feel such terrible pity for Xena. Even though the Dark Conqueror had struck her and frightened her—even though Gabrielle had heard her give the order to kill the prisoners with her own ears, and had only just been able to dissuade her— _Even after all that…._ An awful sorrow caught her in its grip, choking her, and tears prickled at the back of her eyelids.

The look on her face. She could still see Xena's eyes when the Destroyer of Nations had raged at her, could see the pain and desperate, trapped hear the ache in her voice. _It's too late for me, don't you see?_ The yearning, when Xena had repeated after her, _Anyone can change…._

 _Her soulmate…._ The thrill that had run through Gabrielle's body when Xena had said that word still tingled along her nerves. She had forgotten to breathe, standing there feeling as if someone had reached inside her chest and brushed her heart. _Xena's soulmate…._ Could it be true? Was that why she had felt like that? Because when she had said that, it was almost as if— _Maybe that's how her other girls betrayed her,_ Gabrielle thought dizzily. _Maybe they did something to disappoint her, or to make her think…And Callisto…._ What must it have taken to make Xena wonder if one of her two greatest rivals could have been her soulmate? _Oh, Xena…._

 _What am I going to do?_

Her head was hurting, and Gabrielle could feel that her thoughts were a mess; she was exhausted, wrung out physically and emotionally. A wave of weariness was rolling over her, dragging at her limbs. _Sleep. I have to sleep. I'll think of it all tomorrow….Oh, Xena…._

She lay down on her little bed and closed her eyes. A wave of sleep rolled over her, drowning her. Her last thoughts were of the Destroyer of Nations.

* * *

A rough shaking pulled her rudely out of sleep. Opening her eyes to the dim gray half-light of early dawn, she blinked blearily up to see a soldier standing over her, fully armored. He was shaking her shoulder.

"Wake up," he ordered her harshly. "Dark Conqueror's orders."

 _Dark Conqueror's orders…._ Gabrielle quickly sat up in the dull interior of the tent, colorless and shadowed in the early morning light. "What's going on?" she asked, blinking at him and squinting. "Does Xena want me to—"

The soldier paid her no heed. He was older than she, close to Xena's age. "The Dark Conqueror's scouts just arrived in. They brought news that the Bright Warrior has been spotted moving in this direction with a large force of men. The Daughter of War believes that Callisto the Fiery is going to try an assault on this position and has ridden out to engage her. I was sent with orders for you to report to the center of the encampment and to remain there until the all-clear is given." He straightened up, clearly waiting for her impatiently.

 _Callisto the Fiery…._ The words lashed Gabrielle's heart like a goad, and sent her scrambling out of bed, hurrying to lace up her sandals with fingers that trembled. _Callisto…._ Almost the moment she was done, the soldier gripped her arm, drawing her after him out of the tent and herding him before her into the cold, dank morning air.

A strange air of tension hung over the encampment, one that Gabrielle had not noticed before; she could sense it in the quick, taut strides of the men she passed hurrying through the lanes of the camp, in their hushed, clipped conversations. When she reached the square, she saw that she was not alone. The packed earth space was filled with men and women of all stripes—she guessed intuitively that they were noncombatants, cooks and horse-doctors and the like, various support personnel who kept Xena's army running. She saw the healers on the north side of the square, including the short, scarred Krannax; he had a large, ugly knife thrust through his belt that Gabrielle knew he was not going to use in surgery. Soldiers were everywhere, in arms and armor, spaced around the perimeter of the square; Gabrielle realized these men must be there to protect the support staff, although in her frightened state it looked more as if they were holding the men and women prisoner. The man who had brought Gabrielle there had vanished, and there was no one for her to talk to; she looked around for Pallonia, but didn't see her. She was not sure what to do, when her eyes fell on the hideous Dragon Throne; she saw the slave was chained to the base of it again, sitting up and watching the events in the square before him with disdain. She bit her lip, then pushed her way through the crowd and approached him hesitantly.

"What's going on?" she asked him.

He glanced up at her briefly, as if she were not worthy of a longer look. "You're here?" His eyes returned to roaming the square. She wondered what he was looking for.

"What's happening?" she asked again.

"You're asking me?" One dark brow went up, and he gave her a coolly superior look, then seemed to dismiss her. Gabrielle stared at him, feeling angry.

"If you don't know, then that's all right," she improvised cannily. "I'm sure that whatever a slave could know wouldn't be that helpful anyway—"

 _Oh, that got his attention,_ she thought, seeing his dark eyes flash with anger. He did _not_ like being called a slave. When he spoke, his voice was tight, his words clipped and metallic. "Xena rode out an hour ago. To engage the Bright Warrior. We've been waiting here since. Is there anything _else_ you'd like to know?"

"Has—has she sent word back since she rode out?" Gabrielle ventured.

The slave looked away. "No."

"When will she be back?"

"Never, if Callisto gets lucky." Gabrielle thought she picked up an undercurrent of anger in his words, though at whom or for what, she did not know.

"What are we supposed to do while she's gone? Does she—are there duties that we're supposed to carry out—"

"Why do you keep asking so many questions?" He glared at her. "If you want something to do, why don't you start by _trying_ to be silent and leaving me alone? All any of us can do now is wait, and that includes you, _little girl_."

Chagrined, Gabrielle fell silent; the slave settled his head down on his chained arms, ignoring her.

They waited. A hush hung over the entire assembly ground, in the dim gray light of just after dawn. The soldiers fidgeted, their armor clinking as they shifted position; the civilians in the center of the square waited, tense. Gabrielle saw that not a few of them were armed, including most if not all of Krannax's healers; the healers looked more as if they were ready for battle than for healing. _Much like the rest of Xena's army…._ Gabrielle waited, though along with the rest of them, she had no idea what they were waiting for.

She didn't know how long they had stood there. It might have been an hour, or only a few minutes; time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. They waited, but Gabrielle had no idea what they were waiting for. From time to time she would glance over at the slave, but he paid her no attention whatsoever, leaning sullenly against the base of the throne to which he was chained, watching the traffic in the square.

Suddenly, she heard it. _"They're coming!"_ It seemed as if she had been hearing it all along—the clash of metal on metal, the screams and cries and shouts of battle. _They're coming,_ Gabrielle thought. _Gods, they're coming._ She retreated toward the throne instinctively, tensing in fear of what was to come. At least during the assault on Athens, she'd been able to hide in the basement; here, she had no such protection.

The soldiers burst onto the scene in a torrent of combat; suddenly, the camp was full of armed and armored men hacking and slashing at each other, so that Gabrielle did not know which way to look, what to prepare for. The men who had been guarding the civilians were engaged at once, striking at their foes, but the tide of battle was too much for them; the lines collapsed into a swirling sea. It seemed that everywhere was confusion. Gabrielle saw men and women fighting, armed, unarmed, with swords, knives, whatever weapons came to hand; she could not tell Xena's men from Callisto's, and had a flash of wonder how they themselves knew, before it was subsumed with fear. At least no one seemed to be targeting her— _probably because I'm unarmed and not a threat,_ she thought, and knew that she could not trust that to hold long; quickly, trembling, she scrambled back against Xena's Dragon Throne, hoping for the protection of the Dark Conqueror.

All was chaos. The square was full of battle. Gabrielle was struggling to impress it on her memory, thinking she might be able to use the scene in an epic, when she heard it—a high, trilling call of a sort that she had never heard before.

 _Xena!_ Gabrielle had no idea how she knew that, but she did, and she was right. Her head jerked in the direction of the call, just in time to see it—in a thunder of hoofbeats, sweeping down the main avenue at incredible speed, came the Dark Conqueror, and right on her heels, a blonde woman who was so striking that Gabrielle knew she had to be the Bright Warrior.

It was the first time Gabrielle had ever seen Callisto, though it would not be the last, and she was _mesmerizing._ Callisto the Fiery was the Dark Conqueror's equal for beauty and presence. Gabrielle saw at once why she was called the Bright Warrior; everything about her gleamed, as keen and beautiful and deadly as light on the edge of a blade. Her wide brown eyes were luminous and shining, a smile of sheer, child-like delight spread across her face. She could have been a girl playing with her puppy, instead of a warrior chasing her mortal enemy. Her brilliant blonde hair streamed behind her, a perfect contrast to the Daughter of War's raven tresses. As the two women came together in battle, Gabrielle could not look away.

The two women pounded furiously into the midst of the square, side-by-side, trading blows. With a piercing, drilling shriek that cut across the commotion of the battlefield and Xena's trilling warcry, Callisto leapt from her horse. Xena launched herself from Argo's back at the same moment, and the two conquerors crossed in the air, their swords clashing with the ring of metal on metal. They were striking at each other even before their feet touched the ground at the same moment.

Gabrielle's heart was in her throat. She had forgotten to breathe, forgotten where she was, forgotten the slave at her feet, forgotten _everything_ but the combat taking place in the middle of the assembly area. She was captivated by the scene before her. Here was an opportunity such as came to a bard perhaps once in a lifetime—a duel between two of the three mightiest warlords in the world—and it was _spectacular._ As the two women struck at each other, exchanging blows any one of which would have felled scores of lesser mortals, it seemed as if everything else around them faded too—the struggle between the two armies, the shouts and cries, the clashes of arms—it all fell away. It was _here_ that this battle would be decided, and there was not a soul witnessing it who did not know it.

And what a battle it was. The two women traded blow for blow, leap for leap, strike for strike, both invincible, both invulnerable. It was clear to see that they were evenly matched, throwing off such power that it seemed impossible they could be merely human; they seemed not mortal women but titanic, elemental forces of darkness and flames, striving with each other on the field of battle. Callisto fought with manic, frenetic intensity, all wide eyes and gleaming grinning delight, yelping and yipping as she exerted herself against her opponent; the Dark Conqueror was doggedly determined in the face of that glee, her eyes veiled, her jaw set. She looked….

…. _Betrayed,_ Gabrielle realized with a flash of insight. She remembered Xena's words of the night before, and drew in her breath. _She looks betrayed._

"Oh, _Xena!_ " Callisto gushed ecstatically, leaping out of the way of a strike; her head rocked on her neck and she gave a childlike giggle. "Oh, Xena, you're _so_ good….How I've _missed_ you!" She giggled again, rich and throaty. Xena drove at her hard, but Callisto evaded easily, with a squeal of delight, and aimed a swat at the Dark Conqueror's back.

Xena swung to face her barely in time, catching the Bright Warrior's blade on her own; her jaw tightened further as she reeled slightly under Callisto's sudden attack. Callisto threw her backward and took a step back herself, sword raised in guard position, looking suddenly sorrowful.

"What's the matter, Xena?" Callisto asked softly, her eyes and voice filled with what appeared to be genuine concern. "Not having a good day?" A sparkle flickered in the Fiery Warrior's eyes. "Are you having some sort of problem with me? My, my—what could it possibly be?" And that sparkle grew stronger.

Xena's face set like stone, and she lunged at Callisto again. There was a savage, brutal anger in that strike, though Callisto laughed again as she swayed out of the way. She did not stop talking. "Let's see, what could you possibly have against me? That I defeated you? No, that couldn't possibly be it. I did ambush you yesterday, there is that….wiped out most of your expeditionary force, too—is that it? What could it be?" She tilted her head appealingly. "I can't seem to think of anything. Can you tell me?"

With a snarl, the Destroyer of Nations charged; Callisto's eyes widened; she flung herself to one side, and Xena missed her by a hairsbreadth. Xena's eyes were utterly dark; Gabrielle tore her attention away from the battle to glance down at the slave, checking his reaction. He seemed as mesmerized as she was.

" _You killed my mother!_ " The pain in Xena's cry rang across the battlefield.

"I did." There was no triumph in Callisto's voice; her words were soft. "I had to. We're even now, don't you see, Xena?" She stood with her sword at guard, and was facing the Destroyer of Nations almost as if talking to an old friend. Then she tilted her head. "We're even. You killed my mother, and I killed yours. That's the way it works—a die for a die."

Xena had paused too, putting up her own sword. That look of betrayal had not left her face. "She never did anything to you— _Why!_ "

"Why do you _think?_ " Callisto's eyes were bright, her smile sharp as a blade. "There's a bond between us now, Xena. A bond that can never be broken, something special that we will always share. I know your feelings, just like you know mine—we share each other's pain. I _am_ you now, Xena, and you are me, down to the very soul." Her smile grew wider, brighter. "Isn't that worth losing your mother—to gain your soulmate?"

With a savage cry, Xena charged.

Callisto's blade leapt up to meet hers, and metal rang against metal with such force that Gabrielle was amazed the weapons did not shatter in their wielders' hands. Xena was striking harder and harder, raw savagery in her every movement, but Callisto turned each blow, laughing, eyes bright. The Fiery Warrior began to strike back, and Gabrielle was amazed to see the Dark Conqueror giving way before her, being driven back across the square seemingly inexorably. There was a grim, desperate fury on Xena's face as she fought—the desperation of a trapped animal brought to bay; it stood out even more against Callisto's manic glee. Gabrielle heard herself gasp as Xena fell back; she pressed closer to the side of the Dragon Throne. "She can't—she can't _lose,_ can she?" and it was not until she heard the slave's snarled, " _Shut up!"_ that she realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

Callisto lunged, and Xena reeled, swayed and stumbled, almost falling; for a moment it looked critical. Then the Destroyer of Nations gathered her feet under her and rallied. She beat Callisto back, advancing farther and farther, her aura swirling around her like darkness. Her eyes were utterly without light. Boiling with fury, she struck at Callisto again and again, harder, faster, and now it was the Bright Warrior who strove to turn Xena's blows. She faltered, and Xena charged in, blade whirling. Callisto's brown eyes widened.

" _Callisto!"_ Xena shouted.

As Xena surged toward her, Callisto shot a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes caught Gabrielle's—and Gabrielle could have sworn, even at that moment, that she saw Callisto wink. As the Dark Conqueror attacked, Callisto gave a shriek and launched herself into a leap, straight toward the Dragon Throne.

The leap carried her far out of Xena's reach and the entire length of the assembly ground. Gabrielle froze in terror as the Bright Warrior struck the ground in front of her and the slave, her grin broad and keen as a knife blade.

"Well, hello there," she purred, glancing brightly back and forth between the two of them. "I see Xena's hauled her useless crippled bedwarmer out for the occasion—" her eyes gleamed as she looked at the slave "—but who's _this?_ Are you Xena's latest girl?"

Gabrielle had no time to react. Callisto reached out and grabbed her. The Fiery Warrior's grip was like iron as she pulled Gabrielle into an embrace, swinging her around so that Xena could see the two of them from across the square and laying her blade at Gabrielle's throat. Gabrielle went still in fear as she felt its keen edge against her skin. "Xena! I've got your girl! Oh Xeeeeeenaaa!" she heard Callisto cry, delightedly. "Look what _I'm_ doing!"

" _You leave her ALONE!"_

The Dark Conqueror's shout rang in the air. Gabrielle could see the panicked fury on her face all the way from where she stood; the sight of Xena looking so sent her pulse into the stratosphere. The distance had gone; Xena's blue eyes blazed at the sight of the bard and the Bright Warrior.

"Who's going to make me? _You?"_ Callisto taunted. "Stop me, Xena!" she challenged. "Can you? Can you?" She laughed again, a clear, bright sound, tilting her head back and shaking her hair down her back. Almost too fast to see, Xena snatched her chakram from her waist and hurled it.

It came within a hairsbreadth of clipping Gabrielle's head; later Gabrielle would realize if she had so much as flinched, it would have split her skull. Callisto jerked back from the whirring disk in startlement, and put out a hand; she snatched the circle of metal from the air, but as she did, she threw Gabrielle from her by reflex. Gabrielle flung herself forward, falling to the ground on her hands and knees, then rolling away from Callisto to fetch up against the base of the throne, almost next to the slave, who scrambled away from her. She heard Xena's trilling warcry as the Warrior Princess launched herself, but had no time to look; with a shriek of outrage, Callisto whirled on Gabrielle, and raised her sword. Gabrielle could make no defense; she was disoriented, and could only watch as the sword rose above her. Callisto stabbed savagely downwards—Gabrielle flinched back; she heard Xena's warcry, closer; she felt a rush of air against her face—

—and Xena was there, between them. Callisto's blade slid into her gut.

 _What?_

Time stopped. The sound seemed to go out of the world, as the color fled Xena's face; her sword clattered to the ground, unnoticed. Callisto had gone still, her eyes wide and luminous with shock. Convulsively, the Bright Warrior released her grip on her weapon, leaving it sticking out of Xena's body; she looked disbelieving, almost frightened of what she had done. Her eyes went, almost pleadingly, from Xena to Gabrielle and back; Gabrielle stared back at her in horror. She could not breathe. She was shaking, desperately trying to realize what had just happened. _It can't be…it can't be….it can't be—_

" _Xena!"_

That hoarse cry came from the slave. He had gone chalk white, his eyes huge and dark in that deathly pale face. He looked, in that first moment, as if his heart had been ripped out of his body; the chains rattled as he threw himself forward, striving to reach her. He could not. Xena crumpled, as if she were a marionette whose strings had been cut; Gabrielle caught her. Xena was too heavy for her; she reeled and almost fell, striving for balance. Her knees buckled under the weight. _I can't hold her!_

Then, Callisto was there beside her, taking Xena in her arms, sharing the burden. Their eyes met over Xena's head, and Gabrielle could see that Callisto looked stricken, lost. Gabrielle saw desolation in her eyes. Together, they lowered the fallen conqueror to the ground, bearing her on their laps.

Xena was still breathing, Gabrielle saw, and saw also in despair that it was hopeless; she knew enough from her healing training to know that the wound Callisto had given her was fatal. _She saved my life…she saved my life and it killed her—_ Gabrielle felt tears on her face. "Xena, why did you do that?" she beseeched. " _Why?_ "

"G—Gabrielle." Xena coughed, and Gabrielle could see blood on her lips, bright against her waxen pallor; her features twisted into something that looked like a smile. "Told—toldja—it was too late for me. Didn't I? Toldja it was too late…."

"Xena. _Xena!_ " Callisto's arms tightened around Xena's body, and there was an awful intensity in those brown eyes. "You're not going to get away from me this easily. I won't let you. I won't _let_ you!" The words were a child's cry. The Bright Warrior drew a dagger from her wrist sheath. Her eyes were those of a little girl. She raised the dagger to her throat. "I'll follow you, Xena. I _swear_ it. We'll be together for eternity." Her voice was shaking. "You and me, burning together, side by side in Tartarus forever. I promise _—_ "

" _No!_ " Xena's hand came up and gripped Callisto's wrist with amazing strength. Another coughing spasm shook her body. "You can't. You have to—Promise me." Her eyes found Callisto's face. "Take—take the army. _Someone_ has to end up with all this, else…what's the point? Has to be you. If not you, then who?" She spluttered a bitter laugh. "Take….the army. Finish what we three started together, you and I and Najara. So much left to do….Take the army. Destroy the Crusader. Smash….Smash Ch'in, secure India—Promise me. _Promise_ me—"

The hand holding the dagger shook where Callisto gripped it. She stared at Xena for a long moment, then loss filled her eyes. Slowly, she lowered the dagger, then leaned forward and placed her forehead against Xena's. "I promise you, Xena. I'll do as you ask. I'll conquer the world in your name. _Then_ I'll follow you."

"Good." Xena made another effort to smile. "If….if someone had to defeat me….glad it was you, Callisto. Glad it was you." She reached up with one bloody hand to brush Callisto's cheek, then coughed again, her whole body shaking. "Something else…."

"What?"

Xena's gaze found Gabrielle, and Gabrielle swallowed hard. Her heart was hurting, and fresh tears spilled over her lower lids. Xena spoke, but not to her. "The girl. Bard. Gabrielle. Callisto, promise me—"

"What about her?"

"I mean it. Promise me. Don't—Don't let the light in her face go out. Protect her innocence." Her eyes were a sea of blue, and Gabrielle was drowning in them. _Xena….Oh, Xena…._ "Promise me. On the—on the _blood of your family,_ Callisto. Don't harm her. Grant what she requests. _Promise—"_

Callisto's grip on Xena's hand was so tight that her knuckles showed white. Her eyes flickered in Gabrielle's direction. "I promise," Callisto said. "On my family. I won't harm her—I'll protect her innocence. I promise—" A fresh coughing spasm shook Xena's body and Callisto paled. " _Xena—"_

"Don't….I don't have much time left…." Xena murmured. "Burn me….after I'm gone, Callisto—"

"I will," Callisto promised fiercely. A spark danced deep within her eyes. "Xena, don't you worry about that. There'll be a burning the likes of which this world has never _seen._ I'll use that crippled slave of yours to light the pyre. I swear it to you—"

Xena found her slave's dark gaze. He looked sick, though Gabrielle couldn't tell if it was at the thought of being burned, at Xena's death, or both. Xena looked at him for a moment. "Nah," she said at last. "Don't bother. He's—" She coughed. "He's not important. He doesn't matter to me anymore. Doesn't….deserve the honor of following me." The slave paled even further. "You—" Then Xena broke off, coughing again. Blood flowed from her mouth. Callisto looked stricken.

" _Xena!"_

Xena gagged, then swallowed. Her breathing was harsh, bubbling. Her bloodshot eyes moved, touching the faces of each of them in turn—Callisto, her slave, Gabrielle—before settling on Gabrielle. Gabrielle froze, her heart on fire. She could not look away—those eyes seemed to be piercing her soul. "Xena…." she whispered.

Xena's lips moved, tracing words that Gabrielle strained to hear. "I think….you were the one," she breathed. "I do. I think….think that you were….the one…." She sighed. Gabrielle waited for her to draw another breath, then realized she wasn't going to.

It was over. The Dark Conqueror was no more.

She lifted her eyes to look at Callisto, at the slave. They both looked as devastated, in that first moment of grief, as she did. The invincible Xena was gone.

"No…." Callisto breathed, then suddenly shook Xena furiously. " _No!_ Don't you leave me, Xena! Don't you _dare!_ You were all I had—you can't do this to me! Not again! Don't you _dare_ leave me like this! _Don't leave me! Don't leave me! XENA!"_ She threw her head back and shrieked, again and again, a piercing, drilling cry that seemed like to split the heavens themselves.

Callisto knelt in the middle of the battlefield, cradling the corpse of her fallen enemy in her arms, screaming out her rage and pain to the overcast, clouded sky. A light rain had begun to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

Dusk hung over the encampment like a pall, shrouding the tents in darkness. The tents were black outlines against the night sky. Only a few fires burned; an eerie, deathly silence hung over the entire encampment. They were in mourning.

Callisto's second, a man named Theodorus, had begun what Gabrielle understood would be a long process of bringing up Callisto's massive army, joining it with Xena's horde. Xena's soldiers seemed to be in shock, as if they could not believe that their invincible mistress was dead; they wandered the lanes looking numb, lost—much as Gabrielle herself felt. Callisto's men were immediately distinguishable; they were scruffy and unkempt in contrast with the orderly discipline of Xena's men, and walked the streets in pride, grinning nastily as they looked on their new comrades. Gabrielle was afraid of them.

Callisto herself was not in evidence. After she had shrieked herself out over her dead rival, she had at last risen. Carrying Xena's body clasped close against her, the Bright Warrior had retreated to the Dark Conqueror's tent, and had not been seen since.

 _I have to get out of here._

Xena's words burned in Gabrielle's mind. With her dying breath, Xena had made the Bright Warrior promise to protect her….but from what she had seen of Callisto, Gabrielle had no confidence in how long that promise would last. It was dangerous to go, she knew that—if Callisto caught her trying to escape—but even more dangerous not to. As soon as dusk had fallen, Gabrielle changed out of the white clothing Xena had given her, back into her green top and red skirt. Taking what few possessions she could find, Gabrielle carefully stole out into the darkened lanes of the encampment.

The lanes were deserted. There were no soldiers out on the avenues after dark, not even drinking or dicing. Once, Gabrielle caught sight of what looked a patrol, passing at some distance from her; but she ducked behind some tents, and they passed unseen. She did not encounter another one.

When she reached the edge of the darkened assembly ground, Gabrielle paused, trying to get her bearings. She was trying to determine the best way to proceed to leave the encampment, when the sound of muffled clinking drifted to her ears, startling her—at first she feared that a patrol was coming up behind her. As she searched for a place to hide, running her gaze over the encampment square, her eyes lit on the Dragon Throne, still under its awning, and the shadow at the base of it.

 _The slave._

His chained hands were up at the collar around his neck, and he appeared to be struggling with something; as Gabrielle drew closer to him, she could hear muttered curses. Gabrielle could move quietly when she wanted to, and the slave was absorbed in his work; he did not see her there until she spoke.

"What are you doing?"

He started and looked up; his dark eyes glimmered with the light from the moon. It took him a moment to recognize her; when he did, his brows drew together in a scowl. "Go away." He returned to his work. Looking more closely, Gabrielle could tell what he was trying to do; he appeared to be trying to pick the lock that held the chain to his collar.

"You're trying to escape, aren't you?"

"Brilliant. What a genius you are." His hands slipped and he cursed quietly to himself; Gabrielle could see blood lacing his knuckles, dark in the moonlight. It was clear he could not see what he was doing; the collar was too tight around his neck. Gabrielle stared at him.

 _I can't leave him here._

She didn't trust Callisto's promise to Xena to protect _her_ safety, and Callisto had made no such promise in regards to the slave. _What will Callisto do to him, the moment she stops mourning Xena?_ Gabrielle didn't even want to think about that. _Even assuming he gets the chain off, there are his legs. He can't make it on his own._ And then….they had shared Xena's death. They had shared _Xena._

Quietly, Gabrielle knelt beside him. "Here," she said, pulling her lockpick out of her belt pouch. "Let me."

He shouldered her away. "I don't need your help, little girl. Leave me alone."

"You can't see what you're doing—"

"I can see enough," he said, though he clearly couldn't. "I said, leave me alone."

"Come on—"

"Get lost," he ordered her sharply, and shrugged away from her again.

"You could at least let me _help_ you," Gabrielle hissed in exasperation to his back. "I'm trying to escape too—we could go together! After all, you—" She took a breath, then hazarded a guess. "You loved Xena too—"

The slave stopped. She saw his shoulders tighten. After a moment, he turned back to look at her; she could see raw anger in his eyes in the moonlight. He started to snap at her, then stopped and seemed to get a grip on himself. His mouth curled in a cold smile. "Just like a foolish, emotional woman," he said scornfully. "Spend a day with someone, no matter how insignificant, and you think it's love. Xena was the best of you, and she was no different," he added, and his smile took on an even sharper edge. "Go ply your charms on Callisto, little girl, as you did with Xena. Someone like _you_ —" and he ran his eyes over her from head to toe, definitely conveying the impression that she was not worth such a close scrutiny "—holds no interest for me."

Gabrielle stared at him for a moment, unable to believe he had said what she thought he said; when she realized it, a surge of anger welled up in her. On top of everything she had endured that day, this nastiness from Xena's slave—when she had been trying to _help_ him—was just too much. She reacted before she thought, snatching his improvised lock pick out of his hand and stepping back out of his reach.

"You apologize," she said, her voice shaking.

He could not have looked more shocked than she herself felt at doing such a thing. After a moment, his eyes narrowed angrily. "Give that back to me _this instant,_ " he demanded.

"No. Not until you apologize. I was trying to _help_ you—"

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed further. "Apologize to _you?_ I don't think so. Give it _back, now._ "

"You apologize," Gabrielle said unsteadily, "or I start screaming for Callisto."

That got his attention. She could see him attempting to evaluate the likelihood that she would do it, and not liking the odds he came up with. Gabrielle had intended it as a bluff. _Mostly._ At that moment, she was not _entirely_ certain she would not.

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I? Xena made her promise not to harm _me._ " She could see the flash of real anger in his face, and she drew in a breath as if to yell.

"Wait—" He closed his eyes and inhaled. His entire body tensed, and between clenched teeth he forced out, "I—didn't mean it."

That was a lie. Gabrielle knew that he _had_ meant it…..but at the same time, it _was_ an apology of sorts. After a long moment, she bent down to him.

"What are you doing—" he began, drawing away from her, but Gabrielle gripped his collar. Using her lockpick, not his—his was no more than a splinter of wood—she unlocked the chain from his collar. It fell to the ground, clanking slightly: a dark serpent in the dust.

The slave looked at the chain for a long moment, then raised his bound hands, feeling the place on his collar where the chain had been attached. He reached down and picked up the end of the chain from the ground, examining that for a time. He looked, Gabrielle thought, as if he couldn't believe it.

"You—" he began, staring at her. His brows contracted in a slight frown.

Gabrielle stood up. She held out a hand to him. _I'm going to regret this,_ she thought to herself, but even so, knew that she had no choice. "Come on," she told him again.

The slave regarded the end of the chain, then with a sudden movement let it drop. When he looked back up at her, she noticed a strange distance in his eyes. "Yes." Bracing himself with his hands, he got his feet under him, then struggled to rise. He almost fell as his mangled legs gave under him.

" _Help_ me." It was a command.

Nevertheless, Gabrielle squatted beside him, tugging at his shoulder and locking one of her arms around his waist. He leaned on her as heavily as he could without her falling over, and somehow they managed to get him to his feet.

"North," he instructed, gesturing peremptorily with his bound hands.

"Why?"

"Callisto's army is to the south. Theodorus and Dagnon are still bringing them up. The north will have fewer guards, and the perimeter is also closer."

"All right." Letting him lean on her, Gabrielle stepped away from the Dragon Throne, and headed to the north exit from the square.

* * *

It took them over an hour to make it to the perimeter, though the actual distance was not that far. The slave's legs made walking extremely difficult; they had to stop multiple times to allow him to rest, and even when they were in motion they moved at a snail's pace. Gabrielle could see by the set of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes that he was frustrated with the limitations of his body, but there was nothing they could do. Gabrielle fretted about the likelihood of running into guards on the edge of camp, but the sentry they encountered was curled up asleep with a wineskin in one hand. The slave grimaced in disgust at the sight. "Xena's not even cold yet and this is what happens to her army?"

They were only as far as the first milestone when the telltale lightness of dawn began creeping into the east; it was not morning yet, but it soon would be. The slave had stopped _again_ to rest his legs, and was rubbing them and cursing as he sat on a log. Gabrielle bit her lip.

 _This isn't working,_ she thought to herself. He saw her eyeing him and looked at her coldly until she turned away. Gabrielle wandered across the clearing to face a tangle of raspberry bushes, biting her lip.

 _We should have gotten some horses,_ she thought to herself. _Why didn't I think to stop and get some horses first?_ Because she hadn't known where the picket lines were and because they might have been heavily guarded; she knew the answer, but it didn't make her feel any better. She could see already that the slave would not be able to make it any great distance with any speed. _If we get into a situation where we have to run, we're going to be in serious trouble…._

She was still thinking that when, as if in answer to her thoughts, the bushes rustled. The slave looked around from his seat on the log. "What is that?"

"I don't know." Gabrielle backed up toward where he sat, wishing for some sort of weapon. All she had was her little belt knife. The bushes rustled again, just long enough for Gabrielle to conjure up all sorts of horrible ideas in her overstressed imagination; she clutched her belt knife as the bushes parted to reveal….

" _Argo?"_

That had been her companion, not her; the palomino mare nosed aside the remaining shrubs and came into the clearing, snorting gently. She was still caparisoned with Xena's gear, as she had been the last time Gabrielle had seen her—Xena's final fight. Gabrielle couldn't believe it. Her companion, she saw, simply nodded to himself, with that superior smile; he didn't appear in the least bit surprised.

Argo came across the clearing toward her, her hooves making no sound on the leaf-strewn turf. She whickered, and Gabrielle felt the horse's warm breath on her skin; then the mare bumped her with her velvety nose. "What does she want?" Gabrielle asked the slave.

"I expect she followed us," the slave said; again, he sounded as if he had known it all along. "Callisto already has a horse, Charybdis; no need for another one." He heaved himself to his feet. "I'll take her. Here, lift me up there."

Argo sidestepped and whuffed as Gabrielle tried to boost the slave onto her back; she pranced away from the two of them, whickering and tossing her head. "Hold still!" Gabrielle pleaded with her; when Gabrielle looped her reins over an arm, Argo finally calmed and allowed her to heave the slave into the saddle. But when Gabrielle passed the reins up to the slave (wondering for a moment if he would simply touch his heels to Argo's sides and leave her standing in the dust), Argo would not go. He dug his heels into Argo's sides, slapped the reins against her neck, tried every command he could think of, but the mare just stood there, ears out to either side, ignoring him. Gabrielle swore she could detect a look of stubbornness in the mare's eyes.

At last he tossed the reins down in defeat. "Stupid horse," he said in disgust.

"Calling her stupid is a good way to get her to want to listen to you," Gabrielle observed.

"She _is_ a stupid horse." He kicked her in the sides angrily, then his eyes widened as Argo snorted. The mare whickered and reared, and a brief moment later the slave was lying in the dirt, cursing Argo furiously. Gabrielle went to him and helped him up.

"Let me try."

" _You?_ " He looked at her in astonishment. "If she won't obey _me,_ what on earth makes you think she'll listen to _you?_ " And he gave that superior smile again. Gabrielle realized she was getting very tired of that expression.

"We'll see."

Argo stood as silent as an old nag as Gabrielle swung up into the saddle, and started the moment she touched her heels to the horse's sides. Gabrielle guided her around the clearing in a circle; Argo obeyed her flawlessly. Facing the slave from the horse's back, Gabrielle smiled down at him. "She'll listen to me."

The slave's jaw tensed. He looked away. "We'll have to ride double," he brought out after a moment. He did not say why. He did not need to; it was obvious that his legs would not carry him. His expression said that he didn't like it at all. _That makes two of us,_ Gabrielle thought, looking down at him. But she knew he was right.

She swung down. As she was struggling, again, to lift the slave into the saddle—he was _heavy_ —something occurred to her. "What's your name?" she asked him.

The slave stopped. His dark eyes glinted, and he stepped back. "Caesar," he told her with that slight smile. "Julius Caesar."

Gabrielle thought, but the name meant nothing to her. "Never heard of you." _Although…._ She frowned, thinking.

A flash of irritation crossed the slave's face. "The _emperor of Rome._ " He sounded as if he were saying something so obvious that it should not have to be explained.

Gabrielle thought some more, and then suddenly she had it—the tale of Rome's destruction at the hands of Xena. It had never said what had happened to the emperor after Xena had burned Rome to the ground. She realized she was staring at a fragment of the bardic tales right in front of her. "You mean _you're—_ " He did not make a response, but she saw a strange, bitter pride in his face. "Wow," she said after a moment. "And she's had you as her slave all this time?"

"Yes." His jaw tightened.

Gabrielle stared at him some more, thinking. After a moment, she said, "Xena must really hate you, huh?"

He said nothing, but something flickered in his eyes. Gabrielle wondered at it.

"Why didn't you surrender?" she began, thinking of one of the running discussions she'd had with her fellow bards at the Academy. "None of us could ever figure it out. The tales say that Xena offered you the choice—"

He glared at her. "Are we going to talk, or are we going to escape?"

"Okay! Forget I brought it up!" she said with a shrug. _A sensitive spot—something to remember,_ she reminded herself.

Argo stood still for her as she boosted the slave— _Caesar,_ she reminded herself, it was so strange to think of this slave as Caesar—into the saddle, then swung up before him herself. She did not like being so close to him, and tensed as his chained hands gripped her waist for balance; she glanced over her shoulder. "Those hands better not move," she warned him.

He looked at her disdainfully. "Don't flatter yourself, _little girl._ "

"Whatever. Just remember what I've said." He didn't bother to answer.

 _Did I do the right thing, saving him?_ Gabrielle wondered as she touched her heels to Argo's sides; the horse obeyed her at once, setting off down the road. _He would almost certainly have died if I had left him where he was…but what have I gotten myself into? What is going to happen to us?_

The thoughts were in her mind as she guided Argo carefully over the ruts in the trail. The road ahead of her was dark in the shadows from the overhanging trees; it bent in the moonlight, a dark path. She could not see its end.

 _Finis._


End file.
